GODS  TROUBADOUR 


NT  FRANCIS 


SOP-HIE 
"IWETT 


W 


iwMMHmiriTininiTT-r-rm '  '•  ■.' 


GOD'S 
TROUBADOUR 


THE  STORY  OF 
ST.  FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 


BY 

SOPHIE  JEWETT 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1910, 
lY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  COMPANY. 


SIXTH  PRINTING. 


Photograi 


SHEPHERDS    WATCHING    THEiR   FLOCKS. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  Child  of  Long  Ago     ....  i 

II.  The    Young    Troubadour     ...  13 

III.  The  Young  Soldier 21 

IV.  To   Arms! 31 

V.  The    New   Road 41 

VI.  "The  Other  Life  is  as  My  Life"  51 

VII.  Father  and  Son     ......  63 

VIII.  "Lady  Poverty" 73 

IX.  The  Bird  Sisters 87 

X.  Brother  Wolf 97 

XI.  The  Three  Robbers     ......  H3 

XII.  Nurse  and  Patient 125 

XIII.  With   the   Crusaders       .     .     .     .  135 

XIV.  The  Christmas  at  Greccio     ...  149 
XV.  La  Verna 161 

XVI.  The  Troubadour's  Last  Song     .     .175 


<±U< 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Shepherds   watching   their   Flocks       .       Frontispiece 

OPP. 
PAGE 

"Above  the   brown   tiled   roofs  rise   tall   green 

cypress     trees " 4 

Wall  of  an  Assisi  Garden 4 

"  The    hillsides   are   covered   with   olive   trees "  8 
"  Strong,   brown   peasant  women   with  burdens 

on    their   heads " 

Gay  Knights  and   Squires 16 

The  Castle  of  Assisi 20 

A  Gate  in  the  City  Wall 20 

Perugia 24 

Ponte  San  Giovanni 24 

11  It  sets  my  heart  a-beating " 3$ 

"Spoleto    lies    at    the    end    of    the    Umbrian 

valley" 44 

Bridge  near  Foligno 44 

Francis  gives  his  Cloak  to  a  Beggar     ...  56 

Old   Bridge   over   the   Tescio 60 

Threshing-floor  near  Rivo  Torto     ....  60 

"  A  poor  little  chapel  by  the  roadside        .      .  66 

"  A  heavy  load  from  the  mountains  "...  66 

Convent  and  Church  of  San  Francesco,  Assisi  70 

"  The  little  chapel  of  San  Damiano  "...  70 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


OPP 

PAGE 


"  The  sunny  side  of  a  great  olive  tree  "  .  76 
The  Plain  below  Assist     Santa  Maria  degli  An- 

geli  in  the  Distance 76 

The  Old  Well  at  Rivo  Torto 82 

"A  Tiny  Chapel  and  a  Hut  or  Two  "  82 
"  They  all  kept  quiet  while  Francis  finished  his 

sermon  " 94 

St.   Francis  blesses   the  Birds 94 

A  Street  in  Assisi 102 

Gubbio:  "Steeply  built  up  a  mountain  side"  .  102 
The  Spot  where  Brother   Francis  met  Brother 

Wolf 108 

Moat  and  Gateway,  Borgo  San  Sepulcro     .      .  108 

"Brother  Ass" 130 

Sheep  at  Pasture 130 

Knights  going  into  Battle 146 

St.  Francis  before  the  Soldan 146 

"  There  were  a  live  ox  and  a  live  ass  "  156 
"  The  Italian  hillside  seemed  to  change  to  that 

of  Bethlehem" 156 

Assisi  from  the  Place  at  which  St.  Francis  blessed 

it  on  his  Last  Journey 182 

Our   Sister   Death .  182 


A    CHILD    OF    LONG    AGO 


A   CHILD  OF   LONG   AGO 

"  He  prayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

"  He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best 
All  things,  both  great  and  small; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

—  Coleridge. 

UNDER  the  arched  gate  of  a  city 
wall,  a  group  of  people  stood 
watching  the  road  that  wound  down  the 
mountain  and  off  across  the  plain.  The 
road  lay  dusty  and  white  in  September  sun- 
shine, and  the  eyes  of  the  watchers  followed 
it  easily  until  it  hid  itself  in  a  vast  forest, 
that  filled  half  the  valley.  On  the  point 
where  road  and  forest  met,  the  sharpest 
eyes  were  fixed. 
The  crowd  was  gay,  but  not  noisy. 
[3] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

There  were  few  words  and  long  silences, 
as  always  when  people  are  waiting  and  ex- 
pecting. Among  all  the  eyes  that  watched 
the  sunny  road  that  day,  the  most  earnest 
were  those  of  Madonna  Pica  Bernardone, 
and  the  merriest  were  those  of  her  little 
boy  Francis,  for  the  company  was  gathered 
to  see  the  home-coming  of  Messer  Piero 
Bernardone,  the  richest  merchant  of  Assisi, 
and  the  lady  Pica  was  his  wife,  and  little 
Francis  was  his  son.  The  others  were 
friends  and  neighbours  of  Piero.  Some 
were  rich  customers,  who  wondered  if  the 
merchant  had  found  for  them  the  beautiful 
stuffs  which  they  had  ordered.  Certain  of 
the  company  were  only  idlers,  glad  enough 
to  have  something  happen  to  break  the  dul- 
ness  of  the  long,  warm  afternoon. 

Assisi,  at  whose  gate  the  watchers  stood, 
lies  far  across  the  sea  in  beautiful  Italy.    It 
is  a  little  city,  built  on  a  mountain  side, 
[4] 


'ABOVE    THE     BROWN    TILED     ROOTS     RISE    TALL    GREEN     CYPRESS    TREES. 


WALL    OF    AN     ASSlSI     GARDEN. 


A    CHILD    OF   LONG   AGO 

with  a  great  wall  all  about  it,  and  a  castle 
on  the  height  above,  and  it  looks  very  much 
as  it  did  on  that  September  afternoon  more 
than  seven  hundred  years  ago,  when  Francis 
Bernardone  waited  for  his  father.  Inside 
the  walls,  the  stone  houses  are  crowded  to- 
gether, making  narrow,  crooked  streets,  so 
steep,  often,  that  no  carriage  can  drive 
through  them.  Some  streets,  indeed,  are 
simply  long  flights  of  stone  steps,  where  the 
children  play,  and  the  patient  donkeys 
climb  up,  carrying  heavy  loads  of  charcoal 
or  faggots.  But,  though  the  streets  are  nar- 
row, Assisi  is  not  gloomy.  Everywhere 
there  is  sunshine  and  bright  colour.  Above 
the  brown  tiled  roofs  rise  tall  green  cypress 
trees;  over  a  bit  of  garden  wall  trail  red 
trumpet-creepers  and  blue  morning-glories; 
even  the  window-sills  are  gay  with  pink 
and  red  geraniums.  In  the  open  square  the 
market-gardeners  sell  ripe  grapes  and 
[5] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

plums  and  figs,  covered  over  with  fresh 
vine-leaves.  Outside  the  city  gates,  all  the 
world  seems  like  a  fair  garden.  The  hill- 
sides are  covered  with  olive  trees,  whose 
grey  leaves  twinkle  like  silver  when  the 
wind  blows  through  them.  Some  of  the 
trees  look  almost  as  old  as  the  city  walls, 
for  their  trunks  are  only  hollow  shells 
through  which  one  sees  the  blue  sky,  though 
their  tops  still  bear  fruit  bravely  every  year. 
From  the  foot  of  the  mountain  stretches  the 
river  valley,  bright  with  wheat  fields  and 
tall  corn,  and  vineyards  where  the  vines 
hang  in  heavy  garlands  from  one  mulberry 
tree  to  another.  Between  the  rows  of  trees, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  vines,  great  white  oxen 
move  slowly,  dragging  a  clumsy,  old- 
fashioned  plough ;  and  down  a  sunken  road 
that  cuts  through  vineyards  and  cornfields 
go  strong,  brown  peasant  women  with 
burdens  on  their  heads. 

Little    Francis  Bernardone    must  have 
[6] 


A   CHILD   OF   LONG  AGO 

trotted  up  and  down  the  same  steep  streets, 
and  have  played  in  the  same  squares  that 
one  sees  to-day;  but  the  valley  over  which 
he  looked,  on  this  autumn  afternoon,  con- 
tained fewer  vineyards  and  cornfields,  and 
far  more  forest  trees.  Francis  wondered 
what  might  lie  hidden  in  the  forest,  for  he 
had  never  travelled  beyond  the  place  where 
the  white  road  disappeared. 

The  hour  grew  late,  and  the  tired  watch- 
ers shaded  their  eyes  from  the  low  sun  that 
shone  across  the  valley  from  the  western 
mountains.  Suddenly  Francis  shouted 
aloud,  and,  in  a  minute,  the  shout  was  taken 
up  by  many  voices:  "  He  is  coming!  He 
is  coming!"  They  saw,  at  first,  only  a 
cloud  of  dust,  moving  along  the  road;  but 
soon,  horses  and  riders  could  be  discerned, 
in  a  long  line,  half-hidden  still  by  the  dust 
that  rose  in  their  path  and  turned  to  gold 
and  crimson  haze  in  the  red  sunset. 

As  the  horsemen  climbed  the  hill  to  the 
[7] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

city  gate,  the  sight  was  more  like  the  com- 
ing of  a  prince  than  of  a  merchant.  Piero 
Bernardone  rode  ahead,  in  a  company  of 
soldiers,  well  armed  and  mounted  upon  fine 
horses.  Behind  this  group  followed  a  train 
of  pack-horses  and  mules,  heavily  loaded 
with  the  rich  goods  that  the  merchant  was 
bringing  home.  Last  of  all  came  another 
band  of  soldiers,  some  mounted,  some  on 
foot.  All  this  escort  was  customary  for  a 
rich  merchant  in  those  days,  for  the  roads 
were  often  held  by  wandering  bands  of 
soldiers  or  highway  robbers.  Piero  Ber- 
nardone needed  many  swords  to  defend  the 
silks  and  velvets,  gold  embroideries  and 
jewels  which  he  had  bought  in  the  great 
market  towns  of  France  and  northern  Italy. 
At  the  gate  of  Assisi,  Piero  Bernardone 
dismounted  gravely.  He  kissed  the  Lady 
Pica  and  the  little  Francis;  he  greeted  his 
friends,  somewhat  coldly,  perhaps,  for  he 
[8] 


THE    HILLSIDES    ARE    COVERED    WITH     OLIVE    TREES 


STRONG,     BROWN     PEASANT    WOMEN     WITH     BURDENS    ON    THEIR     HEADS. 


A  CHILD  OF  LONG  AGO 
was  a  proud,  hard  man;  but  he  turned  a 
second  time  to  kiss  his  boy,  whom  he  loved 
dearly.  Then  Francis  knew  the  proudest 
minute  of  his  little  life;  for  he  was  mounted 
upon  his  father's  horse,  while  Piero  and  the 
Lady  Pica  walked  beside  him,  and  all  the 
company,  talking  eagerly,  entered  the  gate 
of  San  Pietro,  and  wound  slowly  up  the 
stony  streets  that  led  to  Piero  Bernardone's 
home. 

Inside  the  house,  that  night,  Francis  lis- 
tened with  wide  eyes  to  his  father's  stories, 
for  the  merchant  had  always  interesting  ad- 
ventures to  tell.  He  had  visited  the  great 
fairs,  to  which  other  merchants  came,  from 
Greece,  from  Africa,  from  Syria,  from 
Germany  and  England.  While  he  bought 
and  exchanged  goods,  he  heard  news  from 
all  over  the  world,  a  world  in  which  news 
travelled  slowly,  for  there  were  no  news- 
papers, nor  telegrams,  nor  railroad  trains. 
[9] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

On  his  way  homeward  the  merchant  was 
a  welcome  guest  at  the  castles  of  knights 
and  princes.  Noble  ladies  bought  his  silks 
and  laces,  famous  warriors  begged  him  for 
tidings  of  wars  in  other  lands,  and  all  lis- 
tened to  any  new  stories  which  he  had 
learned  on  his  journey. 

Of  all  the  merchant's  hearers  none  was 
so  eager  as  his  son  Francis.  For  him  the 
stern  Piero  remembered  all  the  strange  and 
beautiful  tales  that  he  heard  by  the  way; 
stories  of  Charlemagne  and  Roland;  of 
King  Arthur  and  his  Knights  of  the  Round 
Table.  For  him  he  learned  the  gay  songs 
of  the  wandering  poets,  Troubadours,  as 
they  were  called,  wTho  sang  in  the  courts  of 
kings  and  in  the  halls  of  nobles.  Their 
songs  were  of  brave  knights  in  shining 
armour,  and  of  ladies  with  white  hands, 
beautiful  eyes,  and  sweet,  unforgettable 
names.  Piero  Bernardone  cared  little  for 
[10] 


A   CHILD    OF   LONG   AGO 

the  courtly  words  of  these  Troubadour 
songs,  but,  as  he  listened,  he  remembered 
the  clear,  childish  voice  at  home,  always 
quick  to  repeat  new  verses  and  new  melo- 
dies. So  Piero  was  glad  when  he  heard 
the  same  song  many  times  of  an  evening; 
and,  next  day,  in  the  saddle,  while  he 
thought  of  prices  and  profits,  his  rough 
voice  sang,  over  and  over,  daintily 
fashioned  rhymes  in  praise  of  Isoline  and 
Blanchefleur,  of  Beatrice  and  Amorette. 

Francis  learned  all  the  stories  and  all  the 
songs.  Especially  he  loved  the  adventures 
of  King  Arthur  and  Sir  Gawain,  Sir  Tris- 
tram and  Sir  Lancelot.  On  this  September 
evening  he  listened  till  his  big  eyes  were 
dim  with  sleep,  and,  all  night  long,  he 
dreamed  wonderful  dreams,  in  which  he 
became  a  great  man,  not  a  merchant  like 
his  father,  but  a  knight  like  Lancelot. 

[ii] 


II 


THE      YOUNG     TROUBA 
DOUR 


THE  YOUNG   TROUBADOUR 

"  For  pitie  renneth  sone  in  gentil  herte."  —  Chaucer. 

AS  Francis  Bernardone  grew  from  a 
/  \  boy  to  a  man,  he  made  friends  with 
a  company  of  gay  youths,  the  sons  of  the 
greatest  and  richest  families  of  Assisi. 
Their  fathers  were  counts,  and  dukes,  and 
princes,  and  the  lads  were  vain  of  the  names 
they  bore,  and  of  the  palaces  where  they 
lived.  It  was  a  lawless  company,  bent  on 
having  a  good  time,  and  thinking  nothing 
of  the  comfort  of  other  people.  The  pranks 
of  these  young  nobles  were  so  reckless  and, 
sometimes,  so  wicked  that  the  good  people 
of  Assisi  lived  in  terror  of  what  they  might 
do  next. 

The  youths  welcomed  Francis  into  their 
fellowship  because,  though  he  had  not  a 
noble  name,   he   had   splendid   clothes   to 
[15] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

wear,  and  much  money  to  spend;  and  be- 
cause, among  them  all,  no  one  laughed  so 
merrily  or  sang  so  sweetly  as  the  mer- 
chant's son.  The  hours  always  went  more 
gaily  when  Francis  was  of  the  party,  for  it 
made  one  feel  happy  just  to  look  at  his 
bright  face.  Piero  Bernardone  was  proud 
that  his  son  should  be  the  friend  and  pet  of 
these  young  lords,  but  the  lad's  gentle 
mother  grieved  that  her  kind-hearted  little 
boy  should  come  to  be  a  wild  and  wicked 
man.  Her  heart  ached  in  the  night,  when 
the  noisy  group  went  laughing  and  shouting 
through  the  streets,  and  she  could  hear  the 
voice  of  Francis,  sweeter  and  louder  than 
the  rest,  singing  a  bit  of  Troubadour  song 
that  he  had  learned  as  a  child: 

"  My  heart  is  glad  in  spring-time, 
When  April  turns  to  May; 
When  nightingales  sing  in  the  dark, 
And  thrushes  sing  by  day." 

[16] 


■■„ 


tt 


s^u^ya 


THE   YOUNG   TROUBADOUR 

The  mother  would  listen  till  the  laughter 
and  singing  were  far  away  and  faint,  and 
the  last  sound  was  always  the  voice  of  her 
boy,  which,  indeed,  she  seemed  to  hear 
long  after  all  was  silent  in  the  narrow  street. 
When  the  neighbours  complained  that  the 
conduct  of  the  boys  was  too  bad  to  be  en- 
dured, the  merchant  only  laughed.  "  It  is 
the  way  of  the  wTorld,"  he  said.  "  Francis 
is  no  worse  than  the  others.  Boys  must  be 
boys.  What  wrould  you  have?"  But  his 
wife  would  speak  softly,  with  tears  in  her 
gentle  eyes :  "  Wait,  I  have  great  hope  that 
he  will  yet  become  a  good  Christian."  The 
mother  knew  all  that  was  best  in  the  boy. 
She  thought:  "  However  careless  and  wild 
he  may  be,  he  has  a  kind  and  loving  heart." 
And  she  was  right.  In  his  gayest  moments 
Francis  was  always  quick  to  pity  any  one 
who  was  poor  or  in  pain. 

But  one  who  is  thoughtless  is  always  in 
[17] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

danger  of  being  cruel.  One  day  a  man, 
ragged  and  hungry,  crept  in  at  the  open 
door  of  Piero  Bernardone's  shop.  Piero 
was  absent,  but  Francis  was  spreading  out 
beautiful  silks  and  velvets  before  two  cus- 
tomers, for  he  sometimes  sold  goods  for  his 
father.  Standing  in  his  dirty,  brown  rags 
among  the  red  and  purple  stuffs  and  the 
gold  embroideries,  the  beggar  cried:  "  In 
the  name  of  God,  give  me  something,  for  I 
am  starving!"  Francis,  whose  mind  was 
intent  on  his  bargain,  impatiently  sent  the 
man  away.  A  moment  later,  he  was  sorry. 
"  What  would  I  have  done,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  if  that  man  had  asked  me  for  money 
in  the  name  of  a  count  or  baron?  What 
ought  I  to  do  when  he  comes  in  the  name  of 
God?"  Leaving  the  astonished  customers 
in  the  shop,  the  boy  ran  out  into  the  street, 
found  the  beggar  and  gave  him  all  the 
money  he  had  in  his  purse. 

Despite  his  gay  life,  Francis  had  times  of 
[18] 


THE   YOUNG   TROUBADOUR 

being  thoughtful,  and  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self. As  he  went  up  and  down  the  streets 
of  Assisi,  wrell  dressed  and  well  fed,  he  saw 
people  sick  and  hungry  and  ragged,  glad 
to  receive  a  crust  of  bread  or  an  old  cloak. 
"These  people,"  thought  Francis,  "would 
live  for  months  on  the  money  that  I  waste 
in  one  day."  Sometimes  he  would  throw 
his  purse  to  a  starving  man,  or  his  bright 
cloak  to  a  ragged  one,  and  his  merry  friends 
wrould  laugh  and  jest  at  him  for  his  folly. 
Then  they  would  all  ride  away  gaily,  and 
even  Francis  wrould  forget. 

He  did  not  forget  his  old  love  for  the 
stories  of  King  Arthur  and  the  Round 
Table.  He  disliked  more  and  more  the 
thought  of  being  a  merchant.  He  wanted 
to  travel,  to  see  far-away  countries,  but  he 
wanted  to  go  as  a  soldier,  not  as  a  trades- 
man. He  wanted  to  storm  great  castles,  to 
rescue  fair  ladies,  to  ride  at  the  head  of  a 
fearless  band  of  knights.  He  loved  the 
[19] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

knights  of  the  old  stories,  not  alone  because 
they  were  strong  in  battle,  but  because  they 
were  gracious  in  speech,  true  of  their  word, 
and  kind  to  all  the  unfortunate  and  weak. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  love  for  gentle  manners 
and  brave  deeds  that  kept  Francis  from  be- 
coming altogether  hard-hearted  and  selfish 
in  these  days. 

Besides  the  songs  of  love  and  of  battle,  he 
had  learned  wise  little  verses  about  the 
duties  of  knighthood,  and  sometimes,  when 
he  and  his  friends  had  been  most  rude  and 
unknightly,  the  old  rhymes  came  back  to 
his  mind  like  a  reproachful  voice: 

"  Nowhere  is  such  a  noble  name 

As  that  of  chivalry ; 
Of  coward  acts  and  words  of  shame 

It  is  the  enemy; 
But  wisdom,  truth,  valour  in  fight, 

Pity  and  purity, 
These  are  the  gifts  that  make  a  knight, 

My  friend,  as  you  may  see." 

[20l 


Ill 


THE    YOUNG    SOLDIER 


THE  YOUNG   SOLDIER 

"Content  to  take  his  adventure  gladly."  —  Hakluyt. 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage."  —  Lovelace. 

THERE  were  many  and  terrible 
wars  in  Italy  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, and  the  chance  of  trying  his  fortune 
as  a  soldier  was  not  long  in  coming  to 
Francis  Bernardone. 

Only  fifteen  miles  away  from  Assisi 
stands  a  larger  city,  called  Perugia.  It 
also  is  built  upon  a  mountain,  and  the  two 
towns  seem  to  smile  at  each  other  across 
the  green  valley.  But  for  hundreds  of  years 
there  were  only  bitter  looks  and  hatred  be- 
tween the  two.  Perugia,  higher  and 
stronger,  lay  like  a  dragon,  ready  to  spring 
upon  her  small  but  furious  enemy.  Assisi, 
like  a  lion's  cub,  was  always  ready  to  fight. 
[23] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

Sometimes  the  lion  was  victor;  always  it 
was  fierce  enough  to  make  the  huge  dragon 
writhe  with  pain. 

When  Francis  Bernardone  was  about 
twenty  years  old,  there  was  war  between 
the  great  dragon  and  the  little  lion.  Down 
from  one  mountain  came  the  Perugian 
army.  Down  from  the  other  came  that  of 
Assisi.  With  the  army  of  Assisi  rode 
Francis  and  most  of  the  company  of  friends 
who  had  been  so  merry  together  in  times 
of  peace.  They  were  gay  as  ever,  and  eager 
to  see  what  a  reel  battle  might  be  like. 

The  armies  met  in  the  plain,  and  fought 
by  the  river  side,  near  a  tiny  town  called 
Ponte  San  Giovanni,  the  Bridge  of  St. 
John. 

This  time  the  Perugians  were  too  strong 

for  the  Assisans,  and  the  young  soldier's 

first  combat  was  a  defeat.    One  day  taught 

him  all  the  horror  of  a  field  of  battle.    He 

[24] 


B  * 


k 


mm 


PERUGIA. 


T'! 


ponte  san   Giovanni. 


THE  YOUNG   SOLDIER 

saw  men  wounded  and  dying.  He  heard 
the  terrified  cries  of  riderless  horses.  He 
suffered  from  blinding  sun  and  parching 
thirst.  War,  that  he  had  thought  so  noble 
and  glorious,  seemed  somehow  confused 
and  cruel  and  hideous. 

The  army  of  Assisi  lost  heavily  that  day. 
Many  men  were  slain,  many  were  made 
prisoners,  and  one  of  the  prisoners  was 
Francis  Bernardone.  He  was  too  tired,  too 
hungry  and  too  thirsty  to  feel  anything 
keenly  except  the  need  of  sleep  and  food; 
yet  he  wondered  how  it  had  all  happened. 
Could  he  be  the  same  man  who  had  gone 
about  for  days  delighting  in  the  song  of  a 
warlike  Troubadour: 

"  Luck  to  the  arm  that's  quickest, 
And,  if  at  odds  ye  strive, 
Die  where  the  field  is  thickest, 
But  never  yield  alive  "  ? 

He  knew  that  he  had  not  been  a  coward. 
[*5l 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 
He  had  not  even  been  afraid,  yet  here  he 
was  unarmed  and  captive. 

Because  of  his  beautiful  dress,  and  be- 
cause of  his  courtly  manners,  Francis  was 
placed,  not  among  the  common  soldiers,  but 
among  the  nobles.  For  a  whole  year  he  was 
a  prisoner  of  war.  It  must  have  been  a  sad 
change  from  the  free,  wild  life  in  Assisi. 
Captives,  even  if  of  noble  rank,  were  not 
softly  treated  in  old  times;  and,  though 
Francis  and  his  companions  may  not  have 
suffered  serious  hardships,  the  long  con- 
finement was,  in  itself,  a  cruel  thing  to  bear. 
On  Francis  Bernardone,  however,  his  mis- 
fortune sat  lightly.  The  army  of  Perugia 
could  not  make  a  captive  of  his  fancy.  His 
fellow-prisoners  were  astonished  to  hear 
him  tell  of  his  hopes  and  plans  for  the 
future;  of  the  battles  he  should  fight;  of  the 
fame  he  should  win;  of  the  beautiful  ladies 
who  should  smile  on  him.  The  brave 
knights  whom  he  admired,  Gawain,  Tris- 
[26] 


THE  YOUNG   SOLDIER 

tram  and  Lancelot,  had  sometimes  fallen 
into  prison,  but  had  won  their  way  out 
again,  to  fight  better  than  before.  So  Fran- 
cis still  dreamed  of  war  and  glory,  and 
boasted  in  his  pride:  "You  will  see  that, 
some  day,  all  the  world  will  adore  me." 

Though  he  was  proud  and  boastful, 
Francis  was  still  gentle-hearted,  and  quick 
to  feel  sympathy  for  all  who  were  unhappy. 
Among  the  prisoners  of  war  was  one  man 
so  vain  and  ill-tempered  that  his  compan- 
ions would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him. 
The  unfortunate  creature  sat  gloomily 
apart,  with  a  black  frown  on  his  face,  and 
with  black  thoughts  in  his  mind.  The 
songs  and  jests  and  games  with  which  the 
others  whiled  away  the  long  hours  made 
him  seem  all  the  lonelier  in  his  silent  cor- 
ner. The  sight  of  the  sad,  bitter  face  was 
more  than  Francis  could  bear.  Many  times 
he  slipped  away  from  the  noisy  group  of  his 
comrades  to  speak  cheerily  to  the  solitary 
[27] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

knight,  and,  little  by  little,  with  the  friend- 
liness that  no  one  was  ever  known  to  resist, 
he  won  the  heart  of  the  miserable  man. 
Through  the  good-will  of  the  boy  whom 
everybody  loved,  the  victim  and  his  tor- 
mentors in  the  end  became  friends  once 
more,  and  there  was  peace  in  the  great 
prison. 

All  through  the  long  winter,  from  across 
the  valley,  the  sad  eyes  of  the  Lady  Pica 
watched  the  towers  of  Perugia.  In  her 
heart  she  questioned  what  might  have  been 
her  boy's  fate.  Was  he  ill,  and  suffering 
and  lonely?  When  would  he  come  back  to 
her?  She  seemed  still  to  hear  him  singing, 
as  on  the  morning  when  he  had  ridden  out 
so  blithely  to  his  first  battle: 

"  Comrades,  let  each  be  ready 
To  give  and  take  his  part; 
Shields  bright  and  lances  steady, 
And  all  men  glad  of  heart." 

[28] 


THE  YOUNG   SOLDIER 

If  the  breeze  that  swept  down  the  long  val- 
ley from  Perugia  could  have  carried  the 
prisoner's  merry  voice,  the  mother  might 
have  been  somewhat  comforted. 

In  prison  or  out  of  it,  the  heart  of  Francis 
of  Assisi  was  always  the  heart  of  the  poet, 
the  Troubadour.  Because  his  companions 
remembered  gratefully  the  songs  and 
laughter  that  brightened  their  captivity,  the 
story  of  his  gaiety  has  come  down  to  us 
across  seven  hundred  years. 


[29] 


IV 
TO    ARMS! 


TO  ARMS! 

"  'Twere  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life 
One  glance  at  his  array." 

4T  last  there  came  a  day  when  the 
/^^prisoners  were  set  free  and  Francis 
could  return  to  his  home.  The  wide  val- 
ley, with  its  shining  rivers,  the  far  blue 
mountains  and  the  green  forest  road  must 
have  been  welcome  to  eyes  that,  for  a  long 
year,  had  looked  at  the  world  through 
prison  windows.  We  may  be  certain  that 
Piero  and  Pica  Bernardone  were  watching 
for  their  son,  and  that  all  the  neighbours 
made  merry  at  his  coming.  We  know  that 
his  gay  young  friends  received  him  joyfully 
and  that  the  old  life  of  feasting,  drinking 
and  rioting  began  again.  Perhaps,  in  his 
delight  at  being  free  once  more,  Francis 
was  more  reckless  than  ever.  At  any  rate, 
[33] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

it  is  certain  that,  a  short  time  after  his  re- 
turn to  Assisi,  he  suddenly  became  seriously 
ill.     When,  after  long  days  of  illness,  he 
began  to  crawl  about  slowly,  weak  and  pale, 
and  leaning  upon  a  stick,  he  was  strangely 
unlike  himself.    Instead  of  being  happy  to 
be  out  of  doors  again,  instead  of  frolicking 
with  his  friends,  he  was  silent  and  sad  at 
heart.    He  wondered  why  he  cared  so  little 
for  the  feasts  and  games  and  songs  that  he 
had  delighted  in  only  a  few  weeks  before. 
Now,  they  did  not  interest  him.    It  seemed 
to  him  that  a  man  ought  to  have  something 
better  to  do  than  simply  to  eat  and  drink, 
and  wear  fine  clothes.    Because  of  his  own 
pain  and  feebleness  he  felt  sorrier  than  ever 
before  for  the  lame,  and  blind,  and  hungry 
beggars  who  came  to  his  door,  and  his  only 
pleasure  was  in  giving  them  money  and 
clothes  and  food. 

[34] 


TO  ARMS! 

As  he  listened  to  the  talk  in  the  market- 
place by  day,  and  in  his  father's  house  at 
evening,  he  heard  many  stories  of  the  wars. 
Men  told  how  houses  were  burned,  fields 
and  vineyards  trampled  and  ruined;  how 
women  and  children  and  helpless  old  men 
were  killed,  or  left  to  die  of  hunger  and 
cold.  When  he  lay  sleepless  at  night,  he 
seemed  to  see  again  the  battle-field  of  San 
Giovanni,  and  the  faces  of  cruel  men  at- 
tacking, and  of  miserable  victims  wounded 
and  falling.  In  these  hours  Francis 
doubted  if  war  could  be  the  glorious  thing 
it  had  always  seemed  to  him. 

But  when  his  friends  began  to  tell  him  of 
new  fighting  in  the  south  of  Italy,  and  of  a 
company  of  soldiers  who  were  going  from 
Assisi  to  join  the  army  of  a  famous  knight 
called  Walter  of  Brienne,  all  was  changed. 
The  old  love  for  battle  and  glory  woke  up 
[35] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

in  his  heart,  and  Francis  made  haste  to 
grow  strong  again  that  he  might  be  ready 
to  go  to  war. 

These  were  exciting  days  for  the  invalid. 
The  colour  came  back  to  his  cheeks  and  his 
eyes  danced  with  joy  at  sight  of  the  rich 
clothes  he  was  to  wear,  the  beautiful  horse 
he  was  to  ride,  the  bright  shield  he  was  to 
carry.  He  forgot  that  he  was  but  a  page, 
and  that  his  first  fight  had  ended  in  defeat. 
He  dreamed  of  winning  great  battles;  of 
marrying  a  beautiful  princess;  of  living  in  a 
magnificent  palace,  or  riding  to  the  wars  at 
the  head  of  knights  and  soldiers  of  his  own. 

Assisi  was  full  of  noise  and  battle  in  these 
days.  Companies  of  soldiers  rode  through 
the  narrow  streets  so  recklessly  that  the  folk 
on  foot  hurried  into  doorways,  and  stood 
open-mouthed  with  fear  while  the  riders 
passed.  In  the  market-place  men  talked  in 
eager  groups.  The  voices  were  loud  and 
[36] 


TO  ARMS! 

excited,  but  louder  still  rang  out  the  sharp 
blows  of  hammer  on  anvil,  for  every  smith 
who  knew  how  to  make  or  to  mend  armour 
was  busy  from  morning  to  night.    Furnaces 
stood  in  the  open  square,  where  the  fires 
looked  pale  in  the  sunshine.    Gay  esquires 
brought  from  their  masters  bent  or  broken 
pieces    of    fine    wrought    steel,    common 
soldiers     brought     their     own     clumsier 
armour;   and  the  small  boys  of  the  city 
stood  in  admiring  circles  about  the  sound- 
ing anvils,  and  thought  that,  next  to  being 
a  soldier,  one  would  like  to  be  a  smith. 

All  this  hurry  of  preparation  was  strong 
medicine  to  Francis.  He  forgot  that  he 
had  been  sick.  He  forgot  that  war  had 
ever  looked  an  evil  thing  to  him.  With 
his  friends  he  was  once  more  the  gayest  of 
companions,  and  he  needed  no  urging  to 
sing  to  them,  to  their  hearts'  content.  Over 
and  over  he  sang : 

[371 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

"  I  love  the  gay  spring  weather, 

And  all  the  trees  a-flower, 
When  a  hundred  birds  together 

Make  music  every  hour; 
But  it  sets  my  heart  a-beating 

To  see  the  broad  tents  spread, 
And  bright-armed  warriors  meeting, 

And  banners  floating  red. 
When  camp  and  street  are  stirring; 

When  the  city  gates  stand  wide; 
When  bands  of  knights  are  spurring 

Through  all  the  countryside. 

"  I  know  a  joy  dearer 

Than  food,  or  drink,  or  rest, 
When  the  battle-shouts  come  nearer, 

When  flash  bright  sword  and  crest; 
When  above  the  trumpet's  braying 

And  shrill  cries  of  distress, 
I  hear  the  mournful  neighing 

Of  brave  steeds  riderless." 

Francis  seemed  to  have  become  more 

boastful  and  more  gay  than  ever,  so  that 

even  his  friends  wondered  at  him,  and  asked 

him  laughingly:    "What  is  it  that  makes 

[38] 


TO  ARMS! 

you  so  merry?"  and  he  answered  proudly: 
"  I  know  that  I  am  going  to  be  a  great 


prince." 


Vain  as  he  was,  however,  Francis  never 
quite  forgot  that  brave  deeds  and  not  fine 
garments  make  a  good  soldier.  Among  the 
company  of  knights  who  were  going  from 
Assisi,  there  was  one  who  had  for  years 
been  a  great  fighter,  but  who  had  suffered 
misfortune,  and  was  now  so  poor  that  his 
clothing  was  actually  ragged.  To  him 
Francis  gave  his  own  new  coat  and  mantle, 
and  the  other  accepted  the  gift  quite  simply, 
knowing  that  rich  clothes  are  worth  little, 
but  that  kind  hearts  are  worth  much. 

When  the  good-byes  were  said  and  the 
horsemen  clattered  out  of  the  city  gate,  no 
heart  in  all  the  company  was  so  light  as  that 
of  Francis  Bernardone. 

His  mother  watched  him  with  grave  eyes, 
remembering  how  many  times  she  had  seen 
[39] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

the  towers  of  Perugia  fade  into  the  red  sky 
at  sunset,  and  had  prayed  that  her  boy 
might  come  back  to  her.  Now,  he  was  go- 
ing again,  not  to  Perugia,  but  far  to  the 
south,  to  a  country  that  she  had  never 
known.  She  wondered  how  he  could  smile 
at  her  so  gaily  as  he  rode  away. 


[40] 


THE    NEW    ROAD 


THE   NEW   ROAD 

FRANCIS  and  his  fellow-soldiers 
were  to  spend  the  first  night  in 
Spoleto,  a  city  about  twenty  miles  south  of 
Assisi,  on  the  way  to  Rome.  The  road  ran 
along  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  some- 
times through  forests  of  oak  and  beech  and 
walnut  trees,  sometimes  between  olive 
orchards  and  vineyards.  Presently  it  struck 
across  the  plain  to  Foligno,  a  busy  town 
lying  flat  in  the  valley. 

In  the  square  of  Foligno,  Francis  had 
often  stood  with  his  father,  selling  goods 
at  the  fairs.  To-day  he  held  his  head  high 
as  he  rode  through  the  familiar  market- 
place. He  thought:  "I  shall  come  back 
a  famous  soldier,  and  I  will  never,  never 
sell  things  at  the  fair  again."  He  blushed 
with  pride  when  some  one  in  the  street 
pointed  him  out  to  a  companion,  saying: 
[43] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

"That  young  man,  who  is  dressed  and 
mounted  like  a  lord,  is  the  son  of  Messer 
Piero  Bernardone,  the  merchant." 

At  Foligno  the  company  halted  to  eat 
and  drink,  and  to  rest  through  the  hottest 
hours  of  the  day.  When  they  were  in  the 
saddle  again,  and  had  left  the  city  gates 
behind  them,  Francis  no  longer  rode 
superbly,  with  his  chin  in  the  air.  Instead, 
he  went  silently,  with  drooping  head,  and 
let  his  horse  lag  behind  the  others  along  the 
level  stretch  of  road.  He  could  not  himself 
have  told  what  was  the  matter;  nothing  had 
happened;  the  woods  were  as  green  and  the 
sunshine  as  bright  as  in  the  morning,  but 
he  who  had  been  so  proud  and  gay  a  few 
hours  earlier  felt  strangely  weary  and  sick 
at  heart.  He  lingered  to  let  his  horse  drink 
from  the  clear,  little  river,  Clitumnus,  that 
comes  dancing  down  from  the  mountain 
and  glitters  across  the  plain,  but  not  even 
[44] 


'  4HV'  ^ 


SPOLETO     LIES    AT    THE    END    OF    THE  UNIBRIAN     VALLEY. 


BRiDGE     NEAR     FOLIGNO. 


THE  NEW  ROAD 
the  song  of  the  water  made  him  merry.  His 
comrades  noticed  his  silence,  but  they  were 
all  too  deeply  interested  in  their  own  plans 
and  hopes  to  think  of  anything  else.  In  the 
late  afternoon  they  entered  the  glorious  oak 
forest  that  filled  the  ravine  where  Spoleto 
lies  at  the  end  of  the  Umbrian  valley.  Be- 
yond, their  way  would  be  through  a  narrow 
mountain  pass  where,  over  and  over  again, 
armies  had  fought  fiercely  to  hold  the  road 
to  Rome.  Deep  in  the  cool  woods,  the  birds 
were  singing,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  it  seemed  to  Francis  that  they  sang  not 
joyfully,  but  sadly. 

Perhaps  he  had  not  grown  strong  after 
his  long  illness,  and  so  could  not  bear  the 
fatigue  of  the  hard  saddle  ride.  Whatever 
the  reason  may  have  been,  it  is  certain  that, 
when  the  party  reached  Spoleto,  Francis 
took  to  his  bed  with  fever,  and  that  his  com- 
panions rode  on,  next  day,  without  him. 
[45] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

And  Francis  had  no  wish  to  follow  them. 
As  once  before,  but  this  time  more  power- 
fully and  surely,  there  had  come  upon  him 
a  great  horror  of  a  soldier's  life.  As  he  lay 
burning  with  fever  and  sleepless  with  pain, 
all  his  dreams  of  glory  faded.  Instead  of 
knights,  with  shining  armour  and  bright 
banners,  he  seemed  to  see  women  weeping, 
little  children  begging  for  bread,  beautiful 
cities  ruined  and  desolate. 

We  do  not  know  how  he  made  his  way 
home.  It  was  a  strange  and  sorry  journey, 
and,  at  the  end  of  it,  he  met  with  ridicule 
from  those  who  had  seen  him  ride  away  so 
bravely  to  seek  his  fortune  as  a  soldier.  But 
if  his  thoughtless  friends  mocked  him,  and 
his  father  and  brother  reproached  him,  his 
mother  was  glad  to  welcome  and  to  care 
for  him.  Perhaps  she,  alone,  understood 
the  change  in  him. 

The  first  days  after  his  return  were  the 
[46] 


THE   NEW   ROAD 

most  sorrowful  that  Francis  had  ever 
known.  Though  he  was  sure  that  he  had 
decided  rightly,  it  pained  him  sorely  to 
know  that  his  friends  thought  him  weak, 
or,  perhaps,  even  cowardly.  Besides  being 
hurt,  he  was  puzzled,  not  knowing  what  he 
ought  to  do  next.  A  week  ago  his  path  had 
lain  clear  before  him,  like  the  white  road  in 
the  valley;  now  it  had  lost  itself  in  a  tan- 
gled forest.  We  do  not  know  how  long  his 
trouble  lasted,  nor  wThat  he  was  doing  in 
these  dreary  weeks;  but  we  know  that,  by 
and  by,  he  began  to  see  plainly  again,  and 
all  his  doubts  and  puzzles  vanished.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  found  his  way  through  the 
forest  and  saw  the  path  that  he  must  take, 
a  narrow  path  and  rough,  a  lonely  path, 
but  straight  to  follow.  He  did  not  know 
that  in  a  few  years  hundreds  of  fellow-trav- 
ellers were  to  come  and  ask  that  they 
might  walk  with  him  along  that  narrow 
[47] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

way;    that    instead    of    being,  as  he    had 
dreamed  he  might,  Francis  Bernardone,  the 
most  famous  knight  in  Italy,  he  should  be- 
come Brother  Francis,  the  man  whom  all 
men  loved.   All  that  Francis  knew  was  that, 
in  the  place  of  his  old  love  for  a  soldier's 
life  and  his  old  desire  to  become  a  great 
prince,  had  come  a  new  love  and  a  new  de- 
sire: a  love  for  all  the  ragged  and  hungry 
and  sick  and  sorrowful  folk  in  the  world, 
and  a  desire  to  feed,  and  clothe,  and  heal 
and  comfort  them  all.     This  new  feeling 
was  very  different  from  his  former  pity  for 
the  poor.    He  had  always  been  pitiful  and 
generous,  glad  to  give  gifts  like  a  patron; 
now  he  was  like  a  lover,  with  a  love  that 
seemed  to  him  big  enough  to  include  every- 
body in  Assisi,  everybody  in  the  wide  world. 
And  Francis  was  happy  again.    His  friends 
who  had  seen  him,  after  he  came  back  from 
Spoleto,  pale  and  sick,  restless  and  disap- 
[48] 


THE   NEW   ROAD 

pointed,  saw  his  face  brighten,  and  heard 
him  singing  as  of  old.  "  Francis  Bernar- 
done  is  like  himself  once  more,"  they 
thought.  But  when  they  found  that  he  no 
longer  cared  for  their  suppers  and  their 
games,  they  said:  "How  stupid  he  is!" 
and  they  left  him  to  go  his  own  way. 


[49] 


VI 


"THE   OTHER   LIFE   IS   AS 
MY    LIFE" 


"THE  OTHER  LIFE  IS   AS 
MY   LIFE" 

"  Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms,  feeds  three, 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbour,  and  Me." 

—  Lowell. 

ABOUT  this  time,  Francis  made  a 
£\^  journey  to  Rome.  Perhaps  his 
mother  hoped  that  a  change  would  bring 
back  his  strength;  perhaps  Piero  hoped 
that,  seeing  many  people  and  hearing  news 
of  the  war,  his  son  might  again  be  fired  with 
soldierly  ambition.  Francis  himself  longed 
to  see  the  city  where  so  many  saints  and 
martyrs  had  lived  and  died,  and  where,  he 
thought,  he  should  find  wise  and  holy  men 
to  tell  how  he  might  carry  out  his  wish  to 
help  and  heal  all  the  misery  in  the  world. 

It  was  strange  to  him  to  travel  again  over 

the  road  to  Spoleto,  yet  he  was  far  happier 

in  spirit  than  on  that  earlier  journey.    South 

of  Spoleto,  the  way  was  new  to  him,  though 

[53 1 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 
he  came  to  know  every  foot  of  it,  a  few 
years  later. 

In  the  thirteenth  century,  as  in  the 
twentieth,  all  travellers  to  Rome  were  eager 
to  visit  the  Church  of  St.  Peter,  but,  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  the  church  itself  was  not 
the  one  whose  vast  dome  we  see  to-day.  It 
was  an  older  church  that  Francis  Bernar- 
done  sought  out,  but  it  stood  on  the  same 
spot,  and  it  must  have  been  exceedingly 
beautiful.  To  Francis  it  seemed  the  most 
sacred  place  in  the  world,  as  he  walked  up 
the  great  nave,  between  the  long  rows  of 
columns,  and  as  he  knelt  to  pray  before  the 
altar.  But  when  he  stood  again  in  the 
church  porch,  he  noticed  the  crowd  of 
wretched,  dirty  human  beings  who  clam- 
oured for  alms,  pulling  at  the  garments 
and  crying  in  the  ears  of  all  who  entered 
the  door.  As  he  looked  at  them  and  lis- 
tened to  them  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
[54] 


"THE  OTHER   LIFE" 

all  the  sunshine  seemed  to  fade  out  of  the 
bright  Roman  sky.    "  What  does  it  mean?  " 
he  asked  himself.    "  Here,  in  Rome,  where 
there  are  so  many  men  rich,  and  wise,  and 
holy,  is  there  no  one  to  take  care  of  all  these 
miserable  creatures?"     In  the  shade  of  a 
column,  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  a 
beggar  was  crouching  who  neither  cried  to 
the  passers-by,  nor  clutched  at  their  cloaks. 
He  only  stretched  out  a  thin  hand,   and 
looked  wistfully  up  into  their  faces.    Fran- 
cis stood  long  watching  this  man.    No  one 
gave  to  him,  no  one  seemed  even  to  see  him. 
The  beggar's  face  looked  weary  and  hope- 
less, and  from  time  to  time  the  thin  hand 
dropped  to  his  knee.    Still  Francis  watched. 
He  forgot  all  about  the  crowds  of  people. 
He  forgot  everything.    He  was  wondering 
what  it  must  be  like  to  sit  from  morning  till 
night,  ragged  and  weary,  begging  for  one's 
daily  bread.    Suddenly,  acting  as  he  always 
[551 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

did  on  the  moment's  impulse,  Francis  spoke 
to  the  silent  beggar  and  led  him  away  to  a 
deserted  corner  at  the  further  end  of  the 
portico.  He  gave  the  man  a  piece  of  money 
and,  with  no  explanation,  proposed  to  ex- 
change clothes  with  him.  The  beggar  stood 
stupefied  as  Francis  began  to  pull  off  his 
own  rich  cloak.  It  may  be  that  he  thought 
the  boy  a  criminal  trying  to  disguise  him- 
self; it  may  be  that  he  thought  him  mad. 
Whatever  he  thought,  he  was  glad  enough 
to  trade  his  tattered  beggar's  dress  for 
clothing  such  as  he  had  sometimes  fingered, 
wTonderingly,  but  had  never  even  hoped  to 
wear.  What  became  of  the  man  we  do 
not  know,  but  Francis,  wrapped  in  a  tat- 
tered, dirty  cloak,  went  back,  to  sit  all  day 
long,  begging  at  the  door  of  St.  Peter's 
church. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  but, 
at  any  rate,  the  hunger  and  weariness  of 
[56] 


"THE  OTHER  LIFE" 

that  strange  day  made  Francis  understand 
better  than  ever  before  the  suffering  of  the 
poor,  and  because  he  understood,  he  was  the 
better  able  to  help. 

After  this  one  day  of  a  beggar's  life, 
Francis  was  sure  that  no  service  in  the 
world  could  be  too  low  for  him  to  do 
gladly,  and  no  human  being  too  revolting 
for  him  to  touch.  The  most  hideous  cripple 
by  the  roadside  seemed  to  him  friend  and 
brother,  and  his  only  grief  was  that  he 
could  not  make  them  all  understand  his  love 
and  sympathy. 

This  joy  and  confidence  lasted  all 
through  his  journey  home.  Spoleto  was  not 
gloomy  this  time,  and  the  birds  in  its  oak 
woods  sang  to  him  merrily.  As  he  came  up 
the  familiar  Umbrian  valley,  until  he  met 
the  little  river  Tescio  on  its  bright,  zigzag 
way,  Monte  Subasio  stood  above  Assisi 
rose-red  in  the  sunset,  and  the  walls  of  the 
[57] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

city  shone  like  transparent  glass,  looking  to 
the  eyes  of  Francis  like  the  walls  of  the 
New  Jerusalem. 

In  the  weeks  that  followed,  it  seemed  to 
Francis  that  simply  loving  his  fellow-men 
made  all  life  joyous  and  easy;  but  one  day 
he  discovered  that  there  were  still  battles 
to  fight. 

He  was  riding  across  the  valley  toward 
Assisi,  and  neared  a  little  hospital  for 
lepers,  where  he  had  often  stopped  with 
gifts  of  money.  His  heart  was  full  of  sor- 
row for  these  sufferers  from  the  most  ter- 
rible of  all  diseases,  and  he  thought:  "I 
will  go  in,  to-day,  and  leave  something  for 
them."  Outside  the  gate  of  the  hospital, 
crouched  against  the  wall  in  the  sunshine, 
one  of  the  lepers  sat  to  ask  alms  of  passing 
travellers.  The  poor  man  was  covered 
with  sores,  and  revolting  to  look  upon.  At 
sight  of  him,  Francis  felt  a  sickening  sense 
[58] 


"THE  OTHER  LIFE" 
of  disgust  and  horror.  He  drew  his  purse 
hastily  from  his  belt  and,  tossing  it  to  the 
leper,  rode  on  as  fast  as  his  horse  could 
carry  him,  trying  to  forget  the  face  that  had 
been  raised  to  his.  Suddenly,  like  an  arrow, 
the  thought  struck  him:  "That  man,  also, 
is  my  brother,  and  I  have  despised  him!" 
The  rider  dropped  his  rein,  and  the  horse 
went  slowly  along  the  rough  road  between 
the  olive  orchards.  Francis  was  both 
ashamed  and  disappointed.  He  said  to 
himself:  "My  purse  was  an  insult,  for  I 
gave  it  without  love,  and  with  more  scorn 
than  pity."  * 

The  spring  sun  was  high  and  hot;  the  sky 
was  cloudless;  not  a  shadow  lay  on  the  vast, 
bare  height  of  Monte  Subasio.  At  a  foun- 
tain beside  the  road  some  women  were 
washing.  They  sang  as  they  worked  and, 
at  the  end  of  the  long  fountain  basin,  a 
group  of  children  shouted  with  laughter, 
[59] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

dipping  their  little  hands  into  the  cold 
water,  and  splashing  one  another  merrily. 
All  the  world  seemed  happy  in  the  sunshine, 
and,  by  contrast,  the  misery  of  the  poor 
leper  seemed  the  greater.  At  the  sound  of 
hoofs,  the  songs  and  laughter  ceased  and  all 
turned  to  look  at  the  new-comer;  but,  to 
the  surprise  of  everyone,  the  horseman 
wheeled  swiftly  about,  and  clattered  back 
in  the  direction  from  which  he  had  come. 
"Who  is  he?"  one  woman  asked  of  an- 
other. "Only  that  young  Bernardone,  the 
merchant's  son,"  was  the  answer;  "people 
say  that  he  has  gone  mad."  Then  an  old, 
bent  woman  spoke:  "Mad  or  not,  he  has 
a  kind  heart.  It  was  his  gold  that  kept  my 
poor  Giovanni  alive  last  winter.  I  wish 
that  more  of  the  rich  folk  were  mad  like 
him." 

Francis  heard  nothing.     He  rode  fast 
across  the  valley  toward  the  little  hospital. 
[60] 


OLD     BRIDGE    OVER    THE    TESCiC, 


THRESHING-FLOOR     NEAR     RIVO    TORTO. 


"THE  OTHER  LIFE" 
He  had  not  been  gone  ten  minutes,  and  the 
leper,  scarcely  recovered  from  his  surprise 
at  the  generous  gift  he  had  received,  was 
creeping  to  the  gate  with  his  treasure.    He 
moved  slowly,  as  if  in  pain.    Francis  sprang 
from  his  horse,  and,  kneeling  in  the  dusty 
road,  he  lifted  the  leper's  hand  to  his  lips 
and  kissed  it,  as  he  had  been  taught  to  kiss 
the  hand  of  a  bishop  or  a  prince.     It  is 
likely  that  the  leper  was  as  greatly  puzzled 
as  the  beggar  in  the  porch  of  St.  Peter's  had 
been,  but  Francis  Bernardone  was  not  mad. 
Instead,  he  had  learned,  through  his  own 
failure  and  shame,  a  lesson  that  some  men 
never  learn;  for,  "though  I  give  all  my 
gifts  to  feed  the  poor,  and  have  not  love,  it 
is  nothing."    From  that  spring  morning,  at 
the  gate  of  the  leper  hospital,  until  the  day 
of  his  death,  Francis  of  Assisi  never  met  the 
man  who  was  too  filthy,  or  too  loathsome, 
or  even  too  wicked,  for  him  to  love. 
[61] 


VII 


FATH  ER    AND    SON 


FATHER  AND   SON 

"O  world  as  God  has  made  it!  all  is  beauty, 
And  knowing  this  is  love,  and  love  is  duty, 
What  further  may  be  asked  for  or  declared?" 

—  Browning. 

TO  Francis,  the  world  seemed  full  of 
new  and  beautiful  things  to  do. 
When  he  saw  a  poor  little  chapel  by  the 
roadside,  he  wanted  to  bring  stones  and 
build  it  up  with  his  own  hands.  When  he 
saw  an  old  woman  bending  under  a  heavy 
load  of  faggots,  or  grass  from  the  mountain, 
he  wanted  to  take  the  burden  upon  his  own 
shoulders.  When  he  saw  a  hungry  child, 
he  wanted  to  give  it  his  own  dinner. 
Above  all,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  go 
everywhere  and  tell  people  to  love  and 
help  each  other,  instead  of  fighting  with 
swords  and  lances. 

Piero  Bernardone  had  been  willing  to 
[65] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

give  his  son  money  and  clothes  and  hoi 
that  the  boy  might  be  as  gay  as  any  of  his 
young  friends;  but  Picro  did  not  like  to 
have  his  moncv   thrown    away   OD   all    the 
poor  folk  of  Assist     Before  many  days, 
Francis  found  that  he  had  not  much  of  his 
own  to  give.     He  did  have  sonic  beautiful 
pieces  of  silk  and  velvet  and  embroi 
that    his    father    had    brought    him    from 
one  of  his  long  journeys.     One  day  Francis 
took  these  out  from  the  carved  oik  chest  In 
which  he  kept  his  treasures.     He 
them  upon   the  floor   and    looked   at   them 
with  the  trained  eve  of  a  merchant's  clerk. 
He  knew  exactly  how  much  money  they 
ought   to   bring.      The    next    morning    he 
rolled  his  merchandise  into  a  parcel,  bound 
it  to  his  saddle,  and  rode  away  to  Foligno, 
to  the  market-place,  for  it  was  the  day  of 
the  fair.     The  square  was  thronged  with 
people.     Under  gay  booths  in   the  centre, 
[66] 


- 


• 


FATHER   AND    SON 

all   along  the   streets,   against  the    palace 
walls,  even  on  the  steps  of  the  cathedral, 
buyers  and  sellers  were  bargaining.    Many 
were  there  who  had  seen  Francis  ride  gal- 
lantly by,  a  few  months  before,  on  his  way 
to  the  war.    Now,  they  were  astonished  to 
see  him,  with   simple  clothes   and   gentle 
manner,  offering  his  goods  for  sale.    When 
all  the  gay  stuffs  were  gone,  Francis  sold 
his  horse   also,    and   started  back  toward 
Assisi  on  foot,  with  a  full  purse  at  his  side. 
Perhaps  the  horse  he  had  just  sold  was  the 
very  one  on  which  he  had  ridden  so  merrily 
over  the  same  road  with  his  soldier  friends. 
However  that  may  be,  as  Francis  neared 
home  and  turned  off  from  the  high-road,  to 
climb  the  stony  foot-path  that  shortens  the 
way,  his  heart  was  far  happier  than  it  had 
ever  been  before.     He  smiled  to  himself 
as  he  remembered  how  he  had  loved  war; 
how  his  heart  had  delighted  in  banners  and 
[67] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

bright  armour  and  martial  music.  Now, 
he  had  no  sword  nor  shield,  not  even  a 
horse,  and  he  was  a  most  unsoldierly  figure 
with  his  dusty  feet  and  his  plain  clothes. 
On  the  hillside,  he  turned  and  looked  down 
the  road  once  more,  wondering  what  had 
become  of  the  knightly  company  who  had 
gone  to  do  battle  in  the  far-off  south.  As 
he  went  on  his  way  again  he  thought  gladly, 
"  My  Captain  is  greater  and  braver  than 
Walter  of  Brienne,  though  He  was  only  the 
Carpenter  of  Nazareth.  I  can  be  a  soldier 
still!" 

The  time  came  quickly  when  Francis 
needed  more  than  a  soldier's  courage.  His 
father  and  his  brother  were  terribly  angry 
with  him,  because,  they  said,  he  was  mak- 
ing himself  and  the  family  ridiculous. 
Piero  Bernardone  had  always  been  a  hard 
man,  and  now,  in  his  wrath  and  disappoint- 
ment, he  was  cruel.  The  poor  mother  tried 
[68] 


FATHER   AND    SON 

to  make  peace,  but  Piero  only  became  as 
angry  with  her  as  with  his  son. 

At  one  time  Francis  hid  himself  for  days 
in  the  little  chapel  of  San  Damiano,  outside 
the  city,  where  he  had  found  a  friend  in  the 
poor  priest.  Piero  sought  for  him  in  fury, 
but  did  not  find  him.  Francis  could  not 
long  endure  to  be  in  hiding,  like  a  coward, 
and  he  determined  to  go  home  to  his  father, 
and  to  explain  that  he  must  live  the  life 
that  he  knew  to  be  right.  By  this  time 
all  Assisi  had  heard  of  the  trouble  between 
father  and  son,  and  there  were  many  peo- 
ple who  thought  Francis  a  madman.  Be- 
fore he  reached  his  father's  door  the  idlers 
and  children  were  shouting  about  him,  mak- 
ing so  much  noise  that  Piero  burst  into  the 
street,  to  know  what  was  happening.  When 
he  saw  Francis  he  was  wild  with  anger. 
He  would  not  listen  to  a  word,  but  fell  upon 
the  youth  like  a  savage.  The  crowd  stood 
[69] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

back  in  horror,  and  the  father  with  cruel 
blows  and  crueller  curses  dragged  his  son 
away  and,  thrusting  him,  half  strangled, 
into  a  dark  room,  locked  the  door. 

How  long  Francis  was  kept  a  prisoner 
we  do  not  know.  At  last  his  father  was 
obliged  to  go  away  on  a  journey,  and  Lady 
Pica,  who  saw  that  all  her  efforts  to  soften 
her  husband's  heart  were  fruitless,  unlocked 
the  door  and  set  her  son  at  liberty. 

All  Piero's  fatherly  love  had  turned  to 
bitter  hatred.  When  he  came  home,  he 
went  to  the  rulers  of  the  city  and  demanded 
that  Francis  should  be  banished  from  As- 
sisi.  Then  Francis  appealed  for  protection 
to  the  bishop,  to  whom  he  told  the  whole 
sad  story.  He  told  him  of  his  past  life  and 
of  the  life  he  now  wished  to  lead;  he  told 
him  of  his  father's  anger  and  of  his  mother's 
grief. 

One  day,,  in  the  little  square  in  front  of 
[70] 


CONVENT    AND    CHURCH     OF    SAN     FRANCESCO,     ASSISI. 


THE    LITTLE    CHAPEL    OF     SAN     DAMIANO." 


FATHER   AND    SON 

the  bishop's  palace,  there  was  a  strange 
scene.  Before  a  crowd  of  men  and  women 
and  children,  who  wondered  at  the  change 
in  the  boy  they  had  always  known,  and  who 
wondered  still  more  at  the  fierce  anger  of 
the  father,  Francis  stripped  off  the  clothes 
he  wore  and  laid  them,  with  the  little 
money  that  he  had  left,  at  the  bishop's  feet. 
Then  he  spoke,  and  his  voice  rang  clear  and 
sweet,  with  no  touch  of  fear  nor  of  anger: 
"  Listen,  all  of  you,  and  understand.  Until 
this  time  I  have  called  Piero  Bernardone 
my  father,  but  now  I  must  serve  God. 
Therefore  I  give  back  to  my  earthly  father 
all  my  money  and  my  clothing,  everything 
that  I  have  had  from  him,  and  from  this 
time  forth  I  shall  say  only:  'Our  Father 
who  art  in  Heaven.' "  The  crowd  of  neigh- 
bours and  friends  stood  silent  and  astonished 
to  see  the  merchant  greedily  seize  the  money 
and  the  garments  and  go  away  without  one 
[7i] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

look  of  pity  for  his  son.  Then  Bishop 
Guido,  with  his  own  cloak,  covered  the  lad, 
who  stood  trembling,  partly  with  cold  and 
partly  with  grief.  We  must  remember  that 
Francis  had  a  loving,  gentle  spirit  and 
longed  to  be  at  peace  with  his  father;  but, 
as  he  had  said  himself,  he  was  Christ's 
soldier,  and  a  soldier  has  no  choice  but  to 
obey.  In  his  heart  he  seemed  to  hear  quite 
plainly  his  Captain's  order:  "  My  soldier, 
Francis,  you  must  be  poor,  not  rich;  you 
must  not  wear  soft  clothing  nor  feast  at 
princes'  tables;  but  you  must  go  through 
city  streets  and  country  lanes,  and  take  care 
of  my  sick  folk  and  my  poor." 


[72] 


VIII 
"LADY    POVERTY" 


"LADY  POVERTY" 

11  The  olives  they  were  not  blind  to  him, 
The  little  grey  leaves  were  kind  to  him 
When  into  the  woods  he  came." 

—  Sidney  Lanier. 

"  Take  henceforth  Francis  and  Poverty  for  lovers. 
Their  concord  and  glad  semblances  made  love,  and 
wonder  and  sweet  regard  to  be  the  cause  of  holy 
thoughts."  —  Dante. 

AFTER  these  things,  Francis  found 
/\  himself  without  home,  or  clothing, 
or  money.  Scantily  clad  in  an  old  cloak, 
lent  to  him  by  the  bishop's  gardener,  he 
wandered  outside  the  city  gate  on  the 
mountain  side.  It  was  early  spring,  and  the 
snow  lay  white  in  the  ravines  above  him, 
and  on  all  the  far-off  peaks  across  the  val- 
ley. But  the  sky  was  blue  and,  on  the  stony 
slopes,  the  yellow  broom  was  in  full  flower. 
[75  1 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

Francis  threw  himself  down  on  the  sunny 
side  of  a  great  olive  tree.  He  leaned 
against  the  warm  grey  trunk,  and  looked 
and  listened.  A  tiny  lizard  darted  across 
the  ground  close  to  his  hand,  and  shot  up 
the  tree  like  a  green  flame.  The  wind  in 
the  dry,  silvery  olive  leaves  whispered  like 
a  kindly  voice,  and  in  every  thicket  the  birds 
were  singing.  It  seemed  to  Francis  that  the 
wind  spoke  to  him,  and  that  the  birds  sang 
to  him.  He  forgot  his  sorrows  and  sang 
also  the  gay  old  Troubadour  songs,  which 
were  the  only  ones  he  knew.  He  did  not 
sing  battle  songs,  but  those  that  told  of 
April,  of  nightingales,  of  roses  and  of  fair 
ladies.    Like  a  courtly  minstrel  he  sang: 

11  '  O  nightingale,  go  where  my  lady  dwells, 
And  bear  her  news  of  me; 
Then  listen  while  she  truly  tells 

Her  tales  to  thee; 
And  she,  if  she  doth  not  forget 
My  love  and  pain, 

[76] 


"LADY   POVERTY" 

Will  bid  thee  swiftly  turn  again 
Where  I  wait  yet 

To  know  how  pass  my  lady's  days, 
To  learn  of  all  her  words  and  ways.'  ': 

The  nightingales  were  not  yet  come  from 
the  South,  but  the  sparrows  made  merrier 
than  ever  in  the  bright  broom,  and  a  wood- 
dove,  hidden  in  an  oak  tree,  was  calling  to 
his  mate;  and  Francis  sang  again,  the  song 
that  he  had  loved  best  in  the  days  when  he 
dreamed  of  fighting  splendid  battles  for  the 
sake  of  a  golden-haired  princess: 

"  '  Great  lady,  who  art  fairest 

Men  say,  of  all  things  fair, 
The  noble  name  thou  bearest 

None  may  so  fitly  bear ; 
Clear  fountain  of  all  beauty 

That  gladdens  the  green  earth, 
Thy  deeds  of  love  and  duty 

Are  more  than  blood  and  birth.'  " 

Even  as  he  sang,  he  thought:    "The  Lady 

whom  I  shall  serve  has  no  other  suitor,  no 

177] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

poet  has  ever  sung  her  praises,  and  no 
knight  has  ever  fought  her  battles;  for  I 
will  be  the  faithful  lover  of  the  Lady 
Poverty,  whom  all  men  else  despise." 

Little  by  little,  the  good  people  of  Assisi 
became  accustomed  to  seeing  Francis  Ber- 
nardone  dressed  in  a  dust-coloured  robe, 
with  a  cord  about  his  waist.  He  went 
barefooted  and  bareheaded.  Many  still 
thought  him  mad,  and  the  street  children 
shouted  at  him  and  threw  mud  and  stones. 
The  young  men  with  whom  he  had  eaten 
so  many  suppers  and  sung  so  many  songs, 
now  jeered  at  him,  and  even  his  brother 
joined  in  the  cruel  sport.  Francis  was  too 
tender-hearted  not  to  be  hurt  by  all  this, 
but  he  never  answered  angrily.  He 
thought:  "  It  is  because  they  do  not  under- 
stand." But,  if  his  rich  friends  were  un- 
kind, the  poor  folk  who  had  loved  him  for 
his  gentle  words  and  for  his  gifts,  when  he 
[78] 


"LADY   POVERTY" 

was  the  proud  young  merchant,  loved  him 
the  better  now  that  he  had  given  them  all 
his  money,  and  was  ready  to  share  his  crust  r 
of  bread  with  any  hungry  man.  At  the 
little  hospital  where  Francis  had  gone  first 
in  splendid  clothes,  with  a  full  purse  at  his 
side,  the  lepers  wondered  to  see  him  come 
so  poorly  dressed,  with  no  horse  and  no 
money.  But,  when  they  saw  how  gently  he 
took  care  of  those  who  were  most  sick  and 
helpless,  they  called  him  "Brother  Fran- 
cis"; and  they  forgot  their  suffering  while 
he  talked  and  sang  to  them. 

One  by  one  new  friends  came  to  Francis 
asking  that  they  might  live  as  he  lived, 
wear  a  coarse  robe  and  go  bare-footed,  and 
work  with  him  for  the  poor  and  the  sick. 
The  first  of  all  was  a  former  friend,  a  rich 
gentleman  of  Assisi,  named  Bernardo  di 
Quintevalle.  This  man  gave  away  his 
riches  and  came  to  live  with  Francis  in  the 
[79] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

service  of  the  Lady  Poverty.  He  was  called 
Brother  Bernardo,  and  Francis  loved  him 
dearly  and,  because  he  was  the  first  of  the 
little  company  of  Brothers,  used  to  call  him 
"  my  oldest  son."  The  second  of  the  new 
friends  was  named  Piero,  and  the  third 
Sylvester.  Sylvester  had  been  a  selfish  man, 
greedy  of  gold,  but  when  he  saw  Francis 
and,  after  him,  Bernardo  give  away  their 
wealth  so  gladly,  and  live  so  happily  with- 
out it,  he  wanted  for  himself  that  joy  that 
his  money  could  not  buy,  and  he  ended  by 
coming  to  be  one  of  the  Brothers. 

When  there  were  several  in  the  company 
of  Brothers,  Francis  named  them  "The 
Little  Poor  Men  of  God."  Three  of  them 
who  were  most  with  Francis,  and  who  after- 
ward wrote  down  the  story  of  his  life,  were 
Brother  Egidio,  Brother  Ruffino  and 
Brother  Leone.  Brother  Leone's  name 
means  Lion,  but  he  was  so  gentle  and  so 
[80] 


"LADY   POVERTY" 

unlike  his  name  that  Francis  used  to  call 
him  "God's  Little  Lamb."  Of  Brother 
Egidio,  who  loved  long,  dangerous  jour- 
neys, and  who  was  always  ready  for  any  ad- 
venture, Francis  would  say:  "He  is  one 
of  the  knights  of  my  Round  Table." 

The  new  Brothers  were  without  money, 
and  without  even  a  house  in  which  to  live. 
In  the  summer  it  seemed  to  them  to  mat- 
ter little.  They  slept  out  under  the  wide 
sky,  as  the  shepherds  still  sleep  in  Italy, 
and  the  moon,  rising  over  Monte  Subasio, 
flooded  all  the  valley  with  white  light;  and 
the  nightingales  filled  the  forest  with  won- 
derful music.  But  when  the  autumn  nights 
grew  cold,  when  the  moonlight  fell  upon 
a  valley  thick  with  mist,  the  Brothers 
looked  about  for  shelter.  Their  refuge  was 
a  little  building,  scarcely  more  than  a 
hovel,  falling  to  ruin,  and  abandoned.  It 
had  once  been  a  retreat  for  lepers,  but  the 
[81] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

lepers  had  been  moved  to  that  hospital 
nearer  the  city  which  Francis  had  so  many 
times  visited.  The  older  building  had 
been  called  Rivo  Torto,  Crooked  Brook, 
from  the  little  stream  beside  which  it  stood. 
Here  the  Brothers  lived  all  through  the 
winter,  and,  when  spring  came,  so  many 
had  joined  the  Brotherhood  that  they  had 
not  room  to  sleep.  Miserable  as  it  was, 
Francis  and  his  first  Brothers  loved  their 
little  hovel,  and  were  happy  there,  and 
from  its  scant  shelter  they  went  out  to 
carry  joy  and  healing  to  the  sad  and  to  the 
sick.  The  ruined  hospital  long  ago  disap- 
peared and,  to-day,  it  is  not  easy  to  find 
even  the  place  where  it  stood.  In  among 
fields,  where  the  corn  grows  so  tall  that  one 
walks  as  if  in  a  forest,  there  is  a  tiny  chapel 
with  an  old  well  and  a  hut  or  two.  Even 
the  name  has  been  changed,  and  if  one  asks 
a  peasant  the  way  to  Rivo  Torto,  he  will 
[82] 


THE    OLD    WELL    AT 


RIVO    TORTO. 


■ 


A    TINY    CHAPEL     . 


AND    A     HUT    OR    TWO. 


"LADY   POVERTY" 

point  out  a  great  church  far  away;  yet,  in 
spite  of  years  and  changes,  the  memory  of 
Francis  and  his  little  Brotherhood  still 
shines  over  the  spot,  warm  and  bright,  like 
the  August  sunshine  on  the  corn. 

Straight  across  the  plain,  not  far  from 
Rivo  Torto,  in  the  midst  of  tall  forest  trees, 
stood  a  little  chapel  where  Francis  and  his 
few  Brothers  had  often  gone  to  rest  and  to 
pray.  A  rich  abbot,  seeing  that  the  Little 
Poor  Men  had  no  place  to  sleep,  made  them 
a  present  of  this  chapel  and  the  ground 
about  it.  Here  they  built  rude  huts  and 
planted  a  hedge  and  made  for  themselves  a 
home,  which  they  called  the  Portiuncula, 
the  little  portion.  A  great  church,  called 
Santa  Maria  degli  Angeli,  has  been  built 
upon  this  spot  and  the  little  old  chapel  still 
stands  under  its  dome. 

The  life  of  the  Poor  Brothers  does  not 
seem  a  gay  one,  as  we  read  about  it,  yet 
[83] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

they  were  most  happy-hearted.  There  was 
no  work  too  humble  nor  too  hard  for  them 
to  do.  They  helped  at  ploughing  in  the 
spring,  at  reaping  and  threshing  in  the 
summer.  In  autumn  they  gathered  grapes 
or  nuts,  and  in  winter  olives,  for  in 
Umbria  the  olive  harvest  is  in  the  winter. 
When  the  Brothers  were  paid  for  their 
work,  they  gave  away  everything  except 
what  was  needed  for  the  day's  food. 

They  often  made  long  journeys,  working 
their  way  from  place  to  place.  Thus  it  hap- 
pened, one  day,  that  Brother  Egidio,  the 
"  Knight  of  the  Round  Table,"  was  stand- 
ing in  a  public  square  in  Rome,  when  a 
countryman  came  by,  asking  for  a  laborer 
to  go  and  gather  nuts  from  a  very  tall  tree. 
The  men  who  stood  about  said:  aNo;  we 
remember  your  tree.  It  is  too  high  and  we 
do  not  want  to  break  our  necks."  "  I  will 
go,  gladly,"  said  Egidio,  "  if  you  will  give 
[84] 


"LADY   POVERTY" 

me  half  the  nuts  I  gather."  The  bargain 
was  made,  and  Brother  Egidio  climbed  to 
the  highest  branches  and  beat  down  all  the 
nuts.  His  share  he  gathered  up  in  his  robe, 
and  went  merrily  through  the  streets  of 
Rome,  throwing  nuts  to  the  poor  folk  whom 
he  met,  till  all  were  gone. 

Wherever  the  Little  Poor  Men  came 
they  brought  help  and  comfort,  and  people 
came  to  love  them  and  to  welcome  them, 
even  those  who,  at  first,  had  mocked  at 
them  and  thrown  stones.  For  love  and  joy 
and  helpfulness  and  gentle  words  make 
most  of  the  happiness  of  life,  and  all  these 
gifts  the  Brothers  had  to  give,  even  when 
they  had  not  a  penny,  nor  a  loaf  of  bread. 


[85] 


IX 


THE    BIRD     SISTERS 


THE    BIRD    SISTERS 

"  Not  a  bird  upon  the  tree  but  half  forgave  his  be- 
ing human." 

THE  Brothers  who  knew  Francis  best 
in  these  years,  who  shared  his  joys 
and  sorrows,  and  even  his  thoughts,  have 
many  stories  to  tell  of  his  love  for  flowers 
and  birds  and  animals.  When  they  were 
planting  their  little  pieces  of  ground  around 
the  poor  huts  in  the  plain,  he  used  to  bid 
them  leave  a  corner  of  good  earth  for  "  our 
little  sisters,  the  flowers."  Once,  in  the 
market-place  of  Siena,  he  rescued  a  pair  of 
doves  from  being  sold.  He  gathered  them 
up  in  his  robe,  saying:  "  Little  sister-doves, 
you  are  simple,  and  good,  and  pure.  Why 
have  they  captured  you?  I  will  save  you 
from  death  and  make  you  nests  for  your 
little  ones." 

[89] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

There  is  a  pretty  story  of  the  friendship 
of  Francis  with  a  family  of  red-throats  who 
used  to  come  and  pick  up  crumbs  on  the 
table  where  the  Brothers  were  eating. 
Another  story  is  of  a  frightened  hare  which 
some  one  had  caught  in  a  trap.  "  Come  to 
me,  Brother  Hare,"  said  Francis,  and  the 
trembling  little  beast  fled  to  him  and  let  it- 
self be  caressed  by  his  kind  hands.  It  even 
refused  to  run  away,  on  being  set  down,  so 
that  Francis  was  obliged  to  carry  it  into  the 
woods  and  leave  it  free  to  find  its  way  home. 

One  day  Francis  was  in  a  little  boat,  be- 
ing ferried  across  the  lake  of  Rieti,  when  a 
boatman  made  him  a  present  of  an  uncom- 
monly large  fish,  just  caught  and  gasping 
for  breath.  The  gift  was  accepted  gladly, 
but,  in  a  minute,  the  astonished  giver  saw 
Francis  drop  the  creature  back  into  the 
water,  bidding  it  thank  God.  Probably 
neither  the  fish  nor  the  fisherman  under- 
[90] 


THE   BIRD    SISTERS 

stood  the  tender  heart  that  could  not  bear 
to  see  anything  suffer  pain;  yet,  doubtless, 
in  its  own  way,  the  poor  fish  was  grateful 
to  feel  the  cool  water  again,  and  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  it  kept  away  from  nets  and  hooks 
for  ever  after. 

With  birds  Francis  felt  himself  always 
among  dear  and  happy  friends.   Once  these 
little  companions  were  even  too  noisy  in 
their  merry-making.    It  was  on  a  day  when 
Francis  stood  up  to  speak  to  a  great  crowd 
of  men  and  women  gathered  out  of  doors. 
Hundreds  of  swallows  were  wheeling  all 
about,  as  one  often  sees  them  of  a  spring 
afternoon,  twittering  and  calling  with  shrill 
voices  while  they  hunt  their  supper  on  the 
wing.    This  time  the  birds  flew  so  low,  and 
were  so  many  and  so  loud,  that  Francis 
could  not  make  himself  heard.     Suddenly 
he  turned  from  his  audience  and  spoke  into 
the  air:    "  It  is  time  that  I  should  have  my 
[91T 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

turn  to  talk,  little  sister  Swallows,"  he  said; 
"be  quiet  and  listen  until  I  have 
finished";  and,  so  says  the  old  story,  the 
swallows  obeyed  his  voice. 

A  short  time  after,  Francis  went  on  his 
way  toward  Bevagna,  a  small  town  on  the 
southwestern  side  of  the  Umbrian  valley. 
Looking  off  from  Assisi,  one  may  still  see 
the  road  by  which  he  must  have  walked. 
Two  or  three  of  his  Brothers  were  with 
him,  but  Francis  was  not  talking.  His 
head  was  bent  and  he  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing so  hard  that  he  had  forgotten  all  about 
his  comrades.  Suddenly,  as  it  is  written  in 
an  old  book  called  "The  Little  Flowers  of 
St.  Francis,"  "he  lifted  up  his  eyes  and 
saw  many  trees  along  the  side  of  the  road 
and  in  their  branches  an  almost  countless 
number  of  birds;  so  that  Francis  wondered, 
and  said  to  his  companions:  '  Wait  for  me 
here,  and  I  will  go  and  preach  to  my  sisters 
[92] 


THE   BIRD    SISTERS 
the  birds.'    And  he  went  into  the  field  and 
began  to  preach  to  the  birds  that  were  on 
the  ground,  and,  quickly,  those  that  were 
up  in  the  trees  came  to  him,  and  they  all 
kept  quiet  while  Francis  finished  his  ser- 
mon, and,  even  then,  they  did  not  go  away 
until  he  had  given  them  his  blessing.    And, 
when  Francis  went  among  them  touching 
their  heads,  not  one  of  them  moved.    The 
substance  of  the  sermon  that  Francis  made 
was  this:    '  My  bird  sisters,  you  are  much 
beloved  by  God  your  Master,  and  always, 
in  every  place,  you  ought  to  praise  Him, 
because  He  has  given  you  liberty  to  fly 
everywhere;  and  He  has  given  you  also 
clothing  double  and  triple.    You  are  loved 
also  by  the  air  which  He  has  given  to  you; 
and  moreover,  you  neither  sow  nor  reap, 
and  God  feeds  you,  and  gives  you  the  rivers 
and  the  fountains  to  drink  from;  He  gives 
you  the  mountains  and  the  valleys  for  your 
[93] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

refuge,  and  the  tall  trees  for  your  nests,  and, 
although  you  do  not  know  how  to  spin  nor 
sew,  God  clothes  you  and  your  children. 
God  must  love  you  much,  since  He  gives 
you  so  many  blessings,  and  therefore,  be 
careful,  my  sisters,  of  the  sin  of  ingratitude, 
and  always  seek  to  praise  God.'  While 
Francis  said  these  words,  all  those  birds 
began  to  open  their  beaks,  and  stretch  out 
their  necks,  and  spread  their  wings,  and 
bend  their  heads  reverently  toward  the 
earth,  and,  with  acts  and  songs,  they  showed 
that  the  Holy  Father  gave  them  great 
pleasure.  And  Francis  rejoiced  and  made 
merry  together  with  them,  and  he  won- 
dered much  at  such  a  multitude  of  birds, 
and  at  their  beauty  and  at  their  attention 
and  tameness,  and  he  devoutly  thanked 
God  for  them."  The  old  story  goes  on  to 
tell  how,  after  the  sermon,  the  great  flock 
of  birds  rose  into  the  air  with  wonderful 
[94] 


-    > 

N       UJ 

5    i 


THE  BIRD  SISTERS 
songs  and  flew  away  North  and  South  and 
East  and  West,  even  as  the  Poor  Brothers 
must  go,  who,  like  the  birds,  had  nothing 
of  their  own,  but  depended  only  on  God's 
care  of  them. 

This  story  of  the  birds  was  so  much  loved 
and  so  often  told  that,  years  afterward,  the 
painters  liked  to  paint  it  on  the  walls  of  the 
churches.  You  may  still  see,  in  the  great 
Church  of  St.  Francis  in  Assisi,  a  picture 
by  the  painter  Giotto,  of  the  grey-robed 
Brother,  standing  among  the  birds,  and 
telling  them,  so  simply  that  it  really  seemed 
as  if  a  bird  might  understand,  of  the  Father 
without  whose  love  not  even  a  sparrow  falls. 

One  night  Brother  Francis  and  Brother 
Leone,  "  God's  Little  Lamb,"  were  alone  to- 
gether. It  was  May,  and  in  a  great  ilex 
tree  near  them  a  nightingale  wTas  singing 
sweet  and  clear,  in  the  stillness.  To  Fran- 
cis the  song  seemed  all  joy  and  praise. 
[95] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

"Come,  Brother  Leone,"  he  cried,  "  let  us 
sing,  too,  and  see  which  will  tire  first,  our 
voices  or  that  of  the  nightingale."  But 
Brother  Leone,  who  was,  perhaps,  tired  and 
sleepy,  excused  himself,  saying  that  he  had 
no  voice.  Then  Francis,  his  heart  filled 
with  the  gladness  of  the  beautiful  spring- 
time, went  out  into  the  darkness,  and,  all 
night  long,  the  man  and  the  bird  sang  won- 
derful songs  of  love  and  praise.  But  even 
God's  Troubadour  could  not  outdo  the 
little  unseen  singer  in  the  ilex  tree,  and,  at 
last,  Francis  owned  merrily  that  Brother 
Nightingale  was  victor  in  this  strange 
singing-match. 


[96] 


X 


BROTHER    WOLF 


BROTHER  WOLF 

"Said  Grey  Brother,  'Where  shall  we  lair  to-day? 
for  from  now  we  follow  new  trails.'"  —  Kipling. 

THE  huts  in  the  plain  below  Assisi 
were  the  home  of  the  Little  Poor 
Men,  in  so  far  as  they  had  a  home ;  but,  like 
the  Troubadours  and  Knights  Errant,  they 
were  wanderers  always.  Just  as  Sir  Lance- 
lot or  Sir  Gawain  would  ride  away  from 
the  court  of  King  Arthur  to  fight  for  any 
forlorn  lady,  or  for  any  hard-pressed 
knight,  so  Brother  Leone  or  Brother  Fran- 
cis would  set  forth  at  any  moment  to  carry 
help  to  the  miserable.  But  the  Brothers 
went  on  foot,  and  they  wore  no  armour,  and 
fought  no  battles;  yet  they  had  need  to  be 
as  brave  as  the  best  of  knights,  for  they 
went  among  the  sick,  and  cared  for  those 
who  were  dying  of  most  terrible  diseases. 
They  met  fierce  enemies,  too,  since  many 
[99] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

people  hated  them  because  they  spoke 
without  fear  in  the  streets,  saying  that  pride 
and  greed  and  war  are  wicked,  and  that 
folk  should  live  by  love  and  labour,  not  by 
fighting  and  robbery.  When  people  saw 
that  the  Brothers  really  lived  as  they 
preached,  that,  when  they  were  stoned  by 
cruel  hands  and  abused  by  cruel  tongues, 
they  returned  only  gentleness  for  anger, 
many  began  to  listen  gladly,  and  even 
barons  and  princes  came  to  love  Francis  and 
his  Brothers,  as  the  poor  and  wretched  had 
loved  them  from  the  first. 

Francis  himself  had  a  manner  so  sweet 
and  winning  that  no  one  could  refuse  to 
listen  to  him;  and  sometimes  he  used  to  be 
sent  for  to  make  peace  between  two  enemies, 
because  even  angry  men,  listening  to  his 
voice,  forgot  their  hatred,  and  were  ready 
to  forgive  and  to  be  friends  again.  The 
stories  say,  moreover,  that  he  could  control 
[ioo] 


BROTHER   W0I#»5»3 

not  fierce  men  only,  but  the  fiercest  of  wild 

beasts. 

One  of  the  places  which  Francis  often 
visited  is  a  little  city  called  Gubbio,  about 
fifteen  miles  north  of  Assisi.    Almost  all  the 
way  the  road  lies  across  the  high  mountains 
and   the   traveller  can  overlook  the  long 
Umbrian  valley.    From  these  bare  heights, 
Perugia  and  Assisi  seem  to  lie  low,  but  far 
to  the  south,  on  clear  days,  the  tops  of  the 
tallest  Apennines  stand  out  against  the  sky. 
Before  the  road  drops  to  the  narrow  valley 
which  lies  below  the  gates  of  Gubbio,  Fran- 
cis, who  loved  the  mountains,  always  turned 
to  look  back  at  the  great  peaks,  shining 
white  in  winter  time,  or  soft  and  blue  if  it 
were  summer. 

Gubbio  looks  not  unlike  Assisi,  but  is  still 
more  steeply  built  up  a  mountain  side.  In 
those  days  the  stone  houses  seemed  to  huddle 
within  the  great  city  walls  for  shelter,  for 

[101] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

there  was  frequent  fighting  at  Gubbio. 
Even  in  times  of  peace,  people  were  often 
afraid  to  go  beyond  the  gates,  because  in 
the  forests  and  caves  on  the  mountain  lived 
daring  robbers  and  brigands.  Besides  the 
savage  men,  there  were  also  savage  beasts, 
and  the  shepherds  feared  for  their  lambs 
and  kids,  when  they  heard  the  howling  of 
the  wolves  at  night. 

Once,  when  Brother  Francis  came  to 
Gubbio,  all  the  city  was  in  terror  because 
of  a  wolf,  the  largest  and  fiercest  ever 
known.  The  huge  creature  prowled  about 
the  country,  devouring  sheep  and  goats; 
but,  worse  than  that,  it  fell  upon  men,  and 
had  killed  more  than  one  shepherd.  No 
man  dared  to  go  out  of  fhe  gates  alone,  and 
even  three  or  four  together  went  armed,  as 
if  to  battle;  for  the  beast  came  close  to  the 
city  walls,  and  his  strength  was  as  that  of 
three  hunters. 

[102] 


**m 


BROTHER   WOLF 

Bands  of  citizens  had  been  out  to  seek  the 
wolf,  but  had  found  only  the  track  of  his 
big  feet,  and  the  bones  of  the  victims  that 
he  had  eaten.     Every  night  the   folk  of 
Gubbio,  safely  barred  within  their  stone 
houses,  told  a  new  story  of  the  four-footed 
enemy:     how  a  shepherd  had  lost  his  fat- 
test sheep  and  two  of  his  best  dogs;  how  a 
soldier,  riding  alone,  toward  evening,  from 
the  next  town,  had  seen  a  great  grey  crea- 
ture moving  in  the  woods  by  the  roadside, 
and  had  spurred  his  horse  to  its  best  speed 
and  reached  the  gate  with  the  beast  close  at 
the  heels  of  the  frightened  horse.     Night 
after  night  the  children  of  Gubbio  shivered 
in  their  beds,  thinking  of  a  long  shadow  that 
crept  about  the  city  walls  in  the  moonlight, 
and  seeming  to  hear  the  pad  of  four  swift 
feet,  coming  nearer  and  nearer. 

Brother  Francis  had  been  often  in  Gub- 
bio and  was  well  known  there,  and  much 
[103] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

loved,  and  therefore  all  the  people  turned 
to  him  with  the  stories  of  their  suffering. 
He  was  sorry,  says  the  old  tale,  to  see  the 
folk  wishing,  but  not  daring,  to  go  outside 
the  gates,  because  the  wolf  was  most  ter- 
rible and  fierce.  To  the  astonishment  and 
horror  of  everybody,  Francis  declared  that 
he  would  himself  go  out  and  meet  the  wolf. 
Though  all  the  crowd  begged  him  not  to 
venture,  and  filled  his  ears  with  accounts 
of  the  cruelty  of  the  beast,  the  Little  Poor 
Man,  followed  by  one  or  two  Brothers, 
went  out  from  the  city  gate  and  down  the 
road  toward  the  spot  where  the  wolf  was 
thought  to  lurk.  Behind  the  Brothers  came 
the  citizens  of  Gubbio,  still  frightened,  but 
curious  to  see  what  would  happen,  and,  it 
may  be,  quieted  by  the  coolness  and  fear- 
lessness of  Francis.  Close  at  the  heels  of 
the  Brothers  marched  certain  venturesome 
boys,  and  at  the  very  end  of  the  procession 
[104] 


BROTHER   WOLF 

dangled  a  group  of  smaller,  timider  chil- 
dren, round-eyed  and  open-mouthed,  who 
clutched  each  others'  hands,  and  were  al- 
ways ready  to  scamper  home  at  a  moment's 
warning. 

About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the 
gate,  where  a  wood  of  tall  oaks  and  wal- 
nuts shadowed  the  road,  those  who  were 
nearest  turned  pale  at  the  sight  of  the  wolf, 
coming  swiftly  along,  with  his  great  jaws 
open,  eager  to  spring  upon  Brother  Fran- 
cis, who  walked  ahead  and  alone.  He 
went,  not  as  a  soldier  goes  to  meet  an  enemy, 
but  as  one  might  go  out  to  meet  a  welcome 
friend. 

As  the  unarmed  man  and  the  wild  beast 
neared  each  other,  Francis  called,  cheerily: 
"Come  hither,  Brother  Wolf!  I  ask  you, 
for  Christ's  sake,  to  do  no  harm  to  me  nor 
to  any  one."  Then  the  crowd  saw,  with 
wonder,  that  the  terrible  wolf  stopped  run- 
[105] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

ning,  and  that  the  great,  wicked  jaws 
closed;  and,  presently,  the  creature  came 
softly  up  to  Brother  Francis  and,  meek  as 
a  lamb,  lay  down  at  his  feet.  And  Francis 
spoke  to  him  as  one  man  might  reason  with 
another:  "Brother  Wolf,  you  do  much 
harm  in  all  this  countryside,  and  you  have 
committed  many  crimes,  hurting  and  kill- 
ing God's  creatures.  Not  only  have  you 
killed  and  eaten  beasts,  but  you  have  dared 
to  kill  men,  made  in  God's  image,  and, 
therefore,  you  deserve  to  be  punished  like 
the  worst  of  thieves  and  murderers;  and  all 
the  people  cry  out  and  murmur  against  you ; 
and  everybody  is  your  enemy."  The  wolf 
lay  perfectly  still,  with  his  head  flat  in  the 
dust  of  the  road,  and  his  red  tongue  lolled 
out  like  that  of  a  winded  hound.  The  peo- 
ple forgot  their  fright,  and  spread  them- 
selves in  a  circle  that  all  might  see  and 
hear;  the  children  tiptoed  closer,  to  look  at 
[106] 


BROTHER   WOLF 

the  monster  who  had  filled  all  their  dreams 
with  terror.    "  But  I  wish,  Brother  Wolf," 
went  on  the  voice  of  Francis,  "  to  make 
peace  between  you  and  this  folk,  so  that  you 
shall  not  harm  them  any  more;  and  they 
shall  forgive  you  all  your  misdeeds,  and 
neither  the  men  nor  the  dogs  shall  trouble 
you  any  longer."     Then,  with  body  and 
head  and  tail,   the  great  wolf  seemed  to 
agree  to  all  that  Brother  Francis  said.   Per- 
haps the  wolf  somewhat  wondered  what  he 
should  do  for  dinner,  if  he  could  not  kill  a 
sheep    nor   a    child;   perhaps    he    was   so 
charmed  by  this  strange,  gentle  voice  that 
he  forgot  all   about  his  dinner.     Brother 
Francis  did  not  forget,  as  his  next  words 
showed.    "  Brother  Wolf,"  said  he,  "  since 
you  are  honestly  willing  to  make  and  keep 
this  peace,  I  promise  you  that,  as  long  as 
you  live,  the  men  of  this  place  shall  give 
you  food,  so  that  you  shall  never  go  hungry; 
[107] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

for  I  know  well  that  it  is  hunger  that  has 
made  you  do  all  this  evil.  But  I  want  you 
to  promise  me,  in  return,  that  you  will 
never  harm  any  human  being,  nor  any  ani- 
mal. Will  you  promise  me  this?"  And 
the  wolf  nodded  his  head,  as  if  he  said: 
"Yes,  I  promise."  And  Francis  said: 
"  Brother  Wolf,  I  want  you  to  make  me  so 
sure  of  your  promise  that  I  cannot  doubt 
it."  The  man  held  out  his  hand,  and  the 
beast  lifted  his  paw  and  laid  it  clumsily  on 
Brother  Francis's  palm,  as  much  as  to  say: 
11  Here  is  my  hand.  I  will  keep  my  part 
of  the  treaty."  "  And  now,"  said  Francis, 
"  I  wish  you,  Brother  Wolf,  to  come  with 
me,  and  not  to  be  afraid,  and  we  will  finish 
this  business." 

Francis  turned  back  toward  the  city,  and 

the  wolf  walked  beside  him  like  a  pet  lamb ; 

and  the  people  of  Gubbio  followed,  in  great 

wonder,  silently.    But,  once  within  the  city, 

[108] 


THE    SPOT    WHERE     BROTHER     FRANCIS    MET     BROTHER    WOLF. 


^9um 


MOAT    AND    GATEWAY,     BORGO    SAN  SEPULCRO. 


BROTHER  WOLF 

they  spread  the  news  from  street  to  street 
and  everybody,  big  and  little,  young  and 
old,  crowded  into  the  square  to  see  Brother 
Francis  and  the  wolf. 

Beside  the  fountain,  in  the  centre  of  the 
square,  stood  the  Little  Poor  Man  in  his 
grey  gown,  with  the  great  grey  beast  at  his 
side.  When  he  spoke,  his  clear  voice 
carried  far,  and  all  the  crowd  fell  silent, 
striving  to  hear.  "Listen,  my  friends," 
said  Francis,  "Brother  Wolf,  who  is  here 
before  you,  has  promised  me  on  his  hon- 
our never  to  hurt  you  again  in  any  way; 
and  you,  in  your  turn,  must  promise  to  give 
him  all  that  he  needs.  I  will  go  surety  for 
him  that  he  will  keep  his  promise."  And 
all  the  people,  with  one  voice,  pledged 
themselves  to  feed  the  wolf,  and  not  to 
harm  him. 

Then,  before  them  all,  Brother  Francis 
said  to  the  wolf :  "  And  you,  Brother  Wolf, 
[109] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

promise  again  before  all  this  people  that 
you  will  keep  faith  with  them,  and  will 
hurt  no  man,  nor  animal,  nor  any  living 
thing."  Then  the  wolf  knelt  down  and 
bent  his  head  and  said,  as  well  as  he  could, 
with  his  body,  his  head  and  his  ears,  that  he 
meant  to  keep  his  word.  And  Brother 
Francis  said:  "Give  me  your  hand  here, 
before  all  the  people,  as  you  did  outside  the 
gate  " ;  and  the  big  grey  paw  was  laid  again 
in  the  hand  of  Brother  Francis,  while  all 
the  people  shouted  to  heaven  for  joy  that 
God  had  sent  so  good  a  man  to  deliver  them 
from  so  terrible  a  beast. 

After  this  Brother  Wolf  lived  in  Gub- 
bio,  and  went  about  tamely  from  door  to 
door,  even  entering  the  houses,  without  do- 
ing harm  or  being  harmed.  He  was  well 
fed  and  politely  treated  by  everybody,  and 
not  a  dog  dared  to  bark  at  him.  He  must 
have  led  a  long  life  of  evil-doing  before  his 
[no] 


BROTHER   WOLF 

change  of  heart,  for,  at  the  end  of  two  years, 
he  died  of  old  age.  When  he  died,  all  the 
citizens  of  Gubbio  mourned  for  him 
greatly,  for  his  own  sake,  and  because  the 
sight  of  him  walking  so  meekly  through  the 
streets  had  made  them  always  remember  the 
goodness  of  Brother  Francis. 


[in] 


XI 


THE     THREE    ROBBERS 


THE  THREE  ROBBERS 

BROTHER  FRANCIS  made  many 
journeys  through  the  mountains  and 
valleys  about  Gubbio,  and  all  the  people, 
rich  and  poor,  came  to  know  the  drooping 
grey  figure  and  the  face  that  was  always  so 
cheerful  and  kind,  though  often  it  looked 
pale  and  thin. 

One  of  the  little  cities  where  he  used  to 
visit  is  called  Borgo  San  Sepulcro.  It  lies 
at  the  foot  of  a  mountain,  and  outside  its 
walls  was  a  deep  moat  with  a  drawbridge 
before  each  gate,  for  a  city  on  a  plain  is 
harder  to  defend  in  battle  than  a  city  on  a 
hill.  To-day,  the  moat  is  dry  and  planted 
with  vineyards,  but  the  old  walls  are  solid 
still,  though  they  are  so  covered  by  trailing 
vines  that  an  army  of  small  boys  might  scale 
them. 

[115] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

From  Borgo  San  Sepulcro,  Brother  Fran- 
cis visited  the  little  villages  that  lay,  each 
at  the  gates  of  a  great  castle,  as  a  dog 
crouches  at  his  master's  feet.  For  village 
and  villagers  belonged  to  the  lord  of  the 
castle,  and,  though  he  might  be  cruel,  and 
ill  treat  them,  they  had  no  other  protection 
in  war  save  that  of  the  castle  courtyard, 
which  was  big  enough  to  shelter  them  all. 

One  day,  in  a  place  called  Monte  Casale, 
about  two  hours'  walk  from  Borgo  San 
Sepulcro,  a  youth  from  one  of  the  castles 
came  to  Brother  Francis.  He  had  a  great 
name  and  great  wealth,  and  the  common 
people  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass.  The 
youth  knelt  down  humbly  before  Francis 
and  said:  "  Father,  I  wish  to  be  one  of 
your  Poor  Brothers."  Francis  looked  down 
kindly  into  the  eager  young  face  and  re- 
plied: "  My  son,  you  are  used  to  a  beauti- 
ful home,  to  rich  clothing  and  delicate 
[116] 


THE  THREE  ROBBERS 
food;  how  will  you  endure  poverty  and 
hardship  such  as  ours?"  But  the  lad  an- 
swered simply:  "  Can  I  not  bear  all  these 
things,  by  the  help  of  God,  even  as  you 
do?"  Francis  was  greatly  pleased  by  this 
answer.  He  joyfully  received  the  youth 
into  the  company  of  Little  Poor  Men,  giv- 
ing him  the  name  of  Brother  Angelo;  and 
his  trust  in  the  new  Brother  was  so  great 
that,  a  little  time  after,  he  made  him 
guardian  of  a  small  house,  near  by,  where 
some  of  the  Brotherhood  were  living. 

The  house  stood  in  a  wild  region  of 
mountains  and  forests,  and,  at  this  time, 
three  famous  and  terrible  robbers  lived  in 
the  woods,  and  were  the  terror  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

On  a  certain  day,  when  Francis  was  ab- 
sent, these  men  came  to  the  house  of  the 
Brothers    and  asked    for    food.     Brother 
Angelo    answered    them    sharply,  saying: 
[117] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

"You  cruel  thieves  and  murderers!  you  are 
not  ashamed  to  steal  what  others  have 
worked  to  earn ;  and  you  even  have  the  face 
to  ask  for  that  which  has  been  given  in 
charity  to  God's  poor!  You  are  not  fit  to 
live,  since  you  reverence  neither  men  nor 
yet  God,  who  made  you.  Away  with  you ! 
and  do  not  let  me  see  you  here  again!" 
The  robbers  went  off  with  dark  looks  and 
muttered  curses,  but  Brother  Angelo  felt 
well  satisfied  with  himself,  and  perhaps  a 
little  proud  that  he  had  been  so  good  a 
guardian. 

An  hour  later,  Brother  Francis  returned 
to  the  house,  weary  with  long  walking  on 
the  rough  mountain  paths.  Over  his 
shoulder  he  carried  a  bag  of  food  that  had 
been  given  to  him  for  the  Brothers  and  for 
their  poor  folk. 

Brother  Angelo  greeted  him  with  the 
story  of  the  three  robbers.  He  doubtless 
[1x8] 


THE  THREE   ROBBERS 

expected  praise  for  having  rid  the  house  of 
such  dangerous  evil-doers;  but,  to  his  sur- 
prise, Francis  looked  at  him,  sadly  and 
sternly,  and  said:  "  My  son,  you  have  be- 
haved most  cruelly.  One  should  receive 
sinners  with  gentleness,  not  with  harshness, 
even  as  Jesus  Christ,  who  said :  '  They  that 
are  whole  have  no  need  of  a  physician,  but 
they  that  are  sick,'  and  l  I  came  not  to  call 
the  righteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance.' 
Moreover,  Jesus  Himself  used  often  to  eat 
with  the  most  wretched  sinners,  and  you, 
my  son,  have  forgotten  all  charity,  and  the 
teaching  of  Christ.  Go  then  quickly;  take 
this  food  and  follow7  the  robbers,  as  fast  as 
you  can,  until  you  overtake  them.  When 
you  find  them  give  them  this  bread  from 
me;  and  kneel  down  before  them  and  con- 
fess your  fault,  and  beg  them,  in  my  name, 
not  to  do  any  more  evil.  Tell  them  that,  if 
they  will  give  up  their  wicked  life,  I  will 
[119] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

find  food  for  them  always,  and  they  shall 
want  for  nothing." 

It  was  a  hard  minute  for  young  Brother 
Angelo.  He  had  looked  for  praise,  and, 
instead,  he  was  being  reproved  by  the  lips 
that  had  never  before  spoken  any  but  gentle 
words  to  him.  Surely  this  command  was 
strange  and  unreasonable!  How  could  he 
run  after  the  men  he  had  just  driven  away? 
How  could  he  ask  pardon  of  such  wTretches? 
But  as  he  looked  into  the  face  of  Brother 
Francis,  so  stern,  and  yet  so  pitiful,  a 
thought  that  he  had  never  known  before 
stirred  in  his  heart,  the  thought  that  it  is 
possible  to  love  not  only  those  who  are  good 
and  gentle,  but  even  the  wicked  and  vile. 
For  it  wras  easy  to  see  that  Francis  loved 
and  pitied  these  robbers,  who  were  prowl- 
ing about,  not  far  away,  hungry  and  fierce, 
like  wild  beasts.  When  this  new  thought 
came  to  Angelo,  all  his  anger  disappeared, 
[120] 


THE   THREE   ROBBERS 
and  he  was  ready  and  glad  to  obey  Brother 
Francis. 

He  threw  the  bag  over  his  shoulder,  and 
ran  along,  as  fast  as  he  could,  by  the  nar- 
row path  that  the  thieves  had  taken.  The 
way  was  steep  and  stony,  but  he  did  not 
notice.  There  had  been  a  thunder  storm, 
but  now  the  sun  came  out,  and  the  wind 
piled  the  clouds  white  and  high  above  the 
mountain  tops,  and  the  sky  was  deep  blue. 
The  sunshine  seemed  to  Angelo  like  the 
face  of  Brother  Francis,  shining  upon  him 
and  driving  away  all  his  hard  and  cruel 
thoughts.  He  began  to  be  more  and  more 
sorry  as  he  remembered  the  rough  words 
he  had  used  to  the  beggars.  As  he  went  on, 
seeing  no  one,  sometimes  through  the 
woods,  sometimes  over  stony  pastures, 
where  sheep  were  feeding,  he  began  to 
think:  "  Suppose  I  cannot  find  the  men? 
Suppose  they  have  taken  some  other  road, 

[121] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

and  are  wandering  in  the  woods,  hungry 
and  miserable?  "  At  the  thought,  he  pulled 
the  bag  higher  on  his  shoulder,  and  hurried 
along  faster  and  faster. 

Just  as  the  path  made  a  sharp  turn  and 
entered  the  woods  again,  Angelo  saw  the 
three  wretched  men  sitting  under  a  chest- 
nut tree,  trying  in  vain  to  find  a  few  nuts 
among  the  husks,  for  it  was  late  autumn 
and  the  nuts  were  all  gathered  or  de- 
cayed. 

As  Angelo  came  running  along  the  path, 
the  three  robbers  eyed  him  sullenly,  and 
when  they  recognised  the  haughty  youth 
who  had  driven  them  so  harshly  from  his 
door,  they  were  ready  to  fall  upon  him  and 
beat  him.  A  minute  later,  they  sat  in 
speechless  surprise,  for  the  boy  threw  him- 
self and  his  bag  down  before  them,  crying: 
"  Here  is  food,  my  brothers,  take  it,  and 
forgive  my  cruelty.    Brother  Francis  sends 

[122] 


THE   THREE   ROBBERS 
me  to  you,  and  begs  you,  for  his  sake,  to  ac- 
cept the  food;  and  he  bids  me  tell  you  that, 
if  you  will  give  up  your  wicked  life,  he 
will  care  for  you  and  feed  you  always." 

Perhaps  there  were  never  three  men  more 
astonished  than  the  robbers  of  Monte 
Casale.  They  devoured  the  food  greedily, 
for  they  were  starving;  but,  as  they  ate,  they 
began  to  say  among  themselves:  "What 
miserable  creatures  we  are,  who  live  by 
thieving  and  murder,  and  fear  neither  men 
nor  God!  And  here  is  this  youth,  who  said 
to  us  only  what  we  richly  deserved,  asking 
our  pardon,  and  bringing  us  food,  and 
promising  that  the  holy  Brother  Francis 
will  forgive  and  care  for  us!" 

The  three  robbers  became  sorrier  and 
sorrier  as  they  remembered  all  their 
wicked  deeds.  By  and  by  one  of  them  said : 
"  Let  us  go  ourselves  to  Brother  Francis 
and  ask  him  if  God  will  yet  forgive  us.  It 
[123] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

may  be  that  the  good  Brother  will  help  us 
to  live  like  honest  folk  once  more." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  three  in- 
famous robbers  of  Monte  Casale  joined  the 
company  of  Little  Poor  Men,  and  spent  the 
rest  of  their  days  in  doing  good  and  not 
evil  to  their  fellow-men. 


[124] 


XII 


NURSE     AND     PATIENT 


NURSE  AND     PATIENT 

ONE    day    in    summer,    Francis    of 
Assisi  came  out  from  the  city  gate 
and  walked  down  the  mountain  on  his  way 
to  the  Portiuncula.    He  took  a  path  that  he 
loved  well  because  it  led  him  by  the  chapel 
of  San  Damiano,  where,  long  ago,  the  good 
priest  had  hidden  him  from  his  father's 
anger,  and  where  many  times,  in  that  first 
year  of  trouble,  he  had  found  shelter  and 
comfort.     He  loved  the  little  chapel  the 
more  because  he  had  helped  to  rebuild  it. 
He  knew  the  very  stones  that  he  had  laid 
with  his  own  hands.    Now,  the  place  was 
dear  to  him  for  another  reason,  for  house 
and  garden  and  little  chapel  belonged  to  a 
sisterhood,  whose  leader,  Sister  Chiara,  had 
come  to  him  in  the  early  days  at  the  Por- 
tiuncula asking  that  she  might  live  the  same 
[127] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

life  of  poverty  and  service  as  that  of  the 
Little  Poor  Men.  To  her,  and  to  all  her 
company,  Francis  had  been  friend  and 
father,  and  it  made  him  happy  that  his  old 
refuge  had  become  their  home. 

From  the  gate  of  San  Damiano  Francis 
could  see  the  whole  valley,  where  the 
August  air  quivered  with  heat,  and  the 
river-bed  lay  white  and  dry.  The  little 
huts  in  the  plain  were  hidden  in  deep  forest, 
and  he  thought  how  cool  the  shadow  of  the 
oaks  and  tall  walnut  trees  would  be  at  the 
end  of  his  journey.  Hot  as  it  was,  he  did 
not  take  the  shortest  road,  but  turned  into  a 
footpath  that  led  to  the  leper  hospital.  He 
was  barefooted  and  bareheaded;  his  robe 
was  the  colour  of  the  dusty  path;  he  walked 
with  bent  head,  wearily,  for  he  was  not 
strong,  and  the  air  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain was  still  and  close. 

Under  the  trees,  men  and  women  were 
[128] 


NURSE  AND   PATIENT 

resting  through  the  hottest  hours,  and  the 
children  were  playing  quietly.    A  baby  lay 
sound  asleep  on  the  brown  grass,  where  the 
shadow  of  broad  vine  leaves  fell  across  its 
face.    A  tired-looking  donkey  nibbled  sadly 
along  the  hedgerows,  which  were  dry  and 
dusty,  for  the  August  rains  had  not  begun. 
As    Francis    drew  near,  the    men    and 
women  rose  to  greet  him,  and  the  children 
left  their  play  to  run  and  kiss  his  hand,  for 
no  one  in  all  the  countryside  was  so  beloved 
as  the  Little  Poor  Man.    He  petted  the  chil- 
dren; he    found   a  greener  twig  for   the 
donkey,  and  called  him  "  Brother  Ass ";  he 
lingered  to  ask  and  answer  questions,  for  he 
knew  all  the  peasants,  and  they  told  him  all 
their  joys  and  sorrows. 

As  he  turned  to  go,  a  little  girl,  pushed 

forward  by  her  mother,  came  toward  him 

timidly,  holding  up  a  basket  covered  over 

with  vine  leaves.     The  sun  shone  on  the 

[129] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

child's  curly  head  and  tiny  brown  arms. 
As  she  lifted  the  basket  higher  the  green 
leaves  slipped  aside,  showing  the  deep 
purple  of  the  August  figs.  "Will  you  ac- 
cept them,  Father,  for  your  supper  at  the 
Portiuncula?"  the  mother  said.  "They 
are  ripe  and  sweet."  The  child  said  noth- 
ing, but  stood  smiling  up  into  the  kind  eyes 
of  the  Little  Poor  Man.  Brother  Francis 
took  the  basket  and  bent  to  kiss  the  giver. 
"  God  reward  you,  little  one,"  he  said.  "  I 
will  carry  the  fruit  to  our  sick  brothers  at 
the  hospital." 

One  of  the  first  duties  which  Francis  had 
taught  his  Little  Poor  Men  was  the  care  of 
the  lepers,  and  some  of  the  Brothers  always 
stayed  in  the  hospital,  and  Francis  himself 
went  often  to  nurse  and  comfort  the  suf- 
ferers. On  this  August  day,  to  his  surprise, 
he  found  his  Brother  nurses  worn  and  dis- 
couraged. They  turned  eagerly  to  him,  as 
[130] 


BROTHER     ASS." 


:p  at   pastui 


NURSE  AND    PATIENT 

always  when  they  were  in  trouble,  and  they 
told  him  a  sad  story.  "  Father,"  said  one  of 
them,  "'do  not  be  angry  with  us,  nor  think 
that  we  have  been  impatient  and  have  for- 
gotten our  rule  of  humbleness  and  service. 
There  is  here  a  leper  so  wretched  in  mind 
and  body  that  not  one  of  us  can  help  him 
nor  even  control  him.  He  is  in  constant 
pain,  and  nothing  gives  him  relief,  and  he 
is  as  bad  in  spirit  as  in  body,  for  he  shrieks 
and  curses  when  we  come  near  him,  and  his 
words  are  so  wicked  that  we  are  afraid  to 
listen." 

"  I  will  go  to  him,"  said  Francis,  and 
they  showed  him  the  bed  where  the  leper 
lay,  muttering  curses  still  with  his  parched 
and  swollen  lips.  "God  give  you  peace, 
dear  Brother,"  said  Francis,  as  he  stepped 
to  the  bedside.  "What  peace  can  I  have 
from  God,  who  has  taken  away  from  me 
peace,  and  every  other  good  thing,  and  has 
[131] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

made  me  altogether  miserable?"  cried  the 
leper.  "  I  am  in  pain  day  and  night,  and 
these  Brothers  of  yours  do  not  care  for  me 
as  they  should;  they  have  done  nothing,"  he 
complained,  bitterly.  "  I  will  take  care  of 
you,  Brother,"  said  Francis,  u  I  will  do  for 
you  whatever  you  wish."  "Then  wash  me 
from  head  to  foot  with  your  own  hands," 
cried  the  leper,  still  angrily,  "  for  all  my 
body  is  covered  with  sores,  and  I  am  loath- 
some, even  to  myself."  Then  Francis  very 
patiently  began  to  bathe  the  leper,  and  his 
hand  and  his  words  were  so  tender  that  the 
wretched  man  was  soothed,  and  ceased  to 
curse  and  complain.  His  pain  vanished, 
too,  under  the  care  of  his  new  nurse,  and, 
as  he  became  comfortable  in  body,  he  grew 
gentle  in  spirit,  and  was  sorry  for  his  un- 
kind and  wicked  words. 

The  other  Brothers  were  astonished  to 
see  the  man  who  had  given  them  so  much 
[132] 


NURSE  AND    PATIENT 

trouble  become  suddenly  gentle  and  patient 
and  grateful  to  them  all. 

One  day,  as  Francis  sat  by  the  bedside, 
the  sick  man  turned  to  him  with  tears  in 
his  eyes.  "  Forgive  me,  Brother,"  he  said, 
"  all  the  evil  that  I  have  spoken  of  you  and 
of  your  Brotherhood."  And  Francis  took 
his  hand  and  spoke  softly  to  him:  "My 
Brother,  you  have  suffered  great  pain.  If 
you  have  not  borne  it  meekly,  ask  God  to 
forgive  you,  for  His  love  is  greater,  far, 
than  ours." 

The  old  story  tells  how,  a  few  weeks 
later,  the  leper  died,  at  peace  with  God  and 
with  all  the  world. 


[i33] 


XIII 
WITH    THE    CRUSADERS 


WITH  THE   CRUSADERS 

"The  tomb  of  God  before  us, 
Our  fatherland  behind, 
Our  ships  shall  leap  o'er  billows  steep, 
Before  a  charmed  wind. 

"  Above  our  van  great  angels 
Shall  fight  along  the  sky ; 
While  martyrs  pure  and  crowned  saints 
To  God  for  rescue  cry. 

"  The  red-cross  knights  and  yeomen 
Throughout  the  holy  town, 
In  faith  and  might,  on  left  and  right, 
Shall  tread  the  paynim  down. 
•  •  •  •  • 

"Jerusalem,  Jerusalem! 

The  burying  place  of  God! 
Why  gay  and  bold,  in  steel  and  gold, 

O'er  the  paths  where  Christ  hath  trod  ?  " 
—  Crusaders'  Chorus,  Charles  Kingsley. 

FROM  the  first,  the  way  in  which  the 
Brotherhood  of  Little  Poor  Men 
grew  in  numbers  was  a  wonderful  thing  to 
see.    Within  a  few  years  it  had  outgrown 
[i37] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

the  settlement  in  the  plain  and  was  a  vast 
company,  like  a  great  army  sent  out  to 
make,  not  war,  but  peace.  The  groups  of 
Grey  Brothers  were  known  all  over  Italy, 
and  companies  of  them  had  gone  to  France 
and  Spain  and  Germany,  and  even  to  the 
north  of  Africa.  In  foreign  lands,  just  as 
in  Italy,  they  preached  their  simple  Gospel, 
and  preached  it  best  by  caring  for  the  sick 
and  the  poor. 

Sometimes  the  Brothers  were  received 
kindly  in  the  far-off  countries;  sometimes 
they  were  mocked  and  stoned,  as  they  had 
been  at  home,  and  in  Africa  a  brave  little 
band  was  cruelly  put  to  death. 

It  seemed  to  Francis  that  he  could  not 
bear  to  stay  where  he  was  known  and  safe, 
while  his  Brothers  were  enduring  danger, 
and  even  death,  in  strange  lands.  More- 
over, his  heart  yearned  over  the  ignorant 
and  miserable  everywhere,  and  he  longed 
[138] 


WITH   THE  CRUSADERS 

to  tell  in  other  places  what  he  had  told  in 
Italy,  that  men  should  love  each  other  and 
live  at  peace,  and  that  food  and  clothing 
and  money  should  be  for  all,  not  for  the 
few.  It  was  only  the  Gospel  of  the  Car- 
penter of  Nazareth,  but  men  had  forgotten 
His  teaching,  though  they  built  churches  in 
His  honour,  and  though  they  went  to  war 

in  His  name. 

In  the  year  1219,  one  of  the  great  wars 

called  Crusades,  or  Wars  of  the  Cross,  was 
going  on.     The   Crusaders  were  soldiers 
from   Europe,  who   fought  in   the   Holy 
Land  to   drive  the   Saracens   away  from 
Jerusalem,  that  the  Holy  Sepulchre  where 
Christ  was  buried,  and  the  hill  where  He 
was  crucified,  might  not  be  in  the  hands  of 
unbelievers,  for    the    Saracens    were    not 
Christians,  but  Mohammedans.   They  were 
brave  and  able  soldiers,  however,  and  many 
times  the  knightly  armies  from  England, 
[  139  ] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

France,  Germany  and  Italy,  suffered  ter- 
rible defeats  in  Egypt  or  in  Palestine. 

Fifteen  years  earlier  Francis  Bernar- 
done  would  have  been  the  most  eager  of 
Crusaders.  The  thought  of  the  long  voy- 
age, of  the  battles  to  be  fought  in  Eastern 
lands  for  the  rescue  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
would  have  made  him  even  happier  than  he 
had  been  when  he  rode  out  to  his  first  fight. 
Now,  Brother  Francis,  the  Little  Poor 
Man,  was  no  less  determined  to  go  with  the 
crusading  army,  but  he  went  with  only 
peace  and  pity  in  his  heart.  He  knew  that 
where  there  were  battles  there  would  be 
wounded  and  dying  to  tend  and  comfort, 
and  he  hoped  that,  in  the  midst  of  hatred 
and  cruelty,  he  might  find  a  chance  to 
speak  of  love  and  gentleness.  He  even 
hoped  that  he  might  go  among  the  armies 
of  the  enemy  and  preach  to  them. 

The  Italian  Crusaders  were  to  sail  for 
[  140] 


WITH   THE   CRUSADERS 

Egypt  from  the  port  of  Ancona,  on  the 
Adriatic  Sea,  toward  the  end  of  June. 
Francis  and  a  company  of  his  Brothers 
crossed  the  mountains  from  Assisi  and 
reached  Ancona  in  time  to  go  about  from 
ship  to  ship,  seeking  to  find  passage.  Since 
they  were  not  soldiers,  and  since  they  had 
no  money,  they  were  forced  to  trust  to  the 
friendliness  of  the  ships'  captains  and,  when 
the  day  of  sailing  came,  places  had  been 
found  for  only  Francis  and  eleven  compan- 
ions. It  was  a  sad  minute,  for  all  wanted 
to  go,  and  Francis  could  not  bring  himself 
to  decide  whom  to  leave  behind.  As  he 
walked  with  them  along  the  white  beach, 
and  looked  away  over  the  blue  harbour 
where  the  ships  rode  at  anchor,  he  spoke 
sorrowfully:  "My  Brothers,  the  shipmen 
will  not  take  us  all,  and  I  have  scarcely  the 
courage  to  choose  between  you.  Let  us  seek 
to  know  what  is  God's  will."  On  the  beach 
[141] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

a  little  child  was  playing  in  the  sand,  and 
Francis  called  him  to  them.  "Do  you 
know  numbers,  little  one?"  he  asked. 
"Can  you  count?"  "Yes,  Father,"  the 
child  answered,  proudly,  "  I  can  count  more 
than  twenty."  "  Then  count  me  out  eleven 
of  these,  my  Brothers,  to  go  to  sea  with  me 
to-night  when  yonder  ships  set  sail."  The 
child  did  not  understand  what  he  was  do- 
ing, but  he  went  about  solemnly  among  the 
company,  and,  with  his  small  forefinger, 
told  off  eleven  Brothers,  and,  at  evening, 
these  eleven  sailed  away  with  Francis  and 
the  Crusaders,  across  the  southern  sea. 

On  the  water,  the  summer  days  were  long 
and  hot.  Sometimes  the  wind  died  away, 
the  sails  hung  empty,  and  the  sun  blistered 
the  decks.  The  ships  were  crowded,  and 
the  soldiers  were  uncomfortable  and  discon- 
tented. Many  fell  sick  of  sunstroke  and 
fever,  and  Francis  and  his  Brothers  found 
[142] 


WITH   THE   CRUSADERS 

plenty  of  misery  ready  to  their  kind  hands. 
At  night,  when  the  breeze  freshened,  and 
the  great  sails  filled  slowly;  when  the  sky 
darkened  and  the  stars  came  out;  when  the 
ship's  prow  and  the  long  oars  cut  through 
waves  of  wonderful,  shining  light,  all  the 
wretchedness  of  the  day  was  forgotten,  and 
the  voyagers  made  merry.  The  sailors  sang 
at  the  ropes,  the  Crusaders,  common 
soldiers  and  knights  together,  seated  on  the 
deck,  listened  while  some  one  told  a  mar- 
vellous story  of  Tristram,  or  of  Roland. 
Then  a  Troubadour  would  sing  some  brave 
or  plaintive  song,  while  his  fingers  made 
sweet  music  on  an  old  Venetian  lute. 

Francis  was  soon  known  to  all,  and  he 
found  many  new  friends.  Sometimes  even 
the  knightly  tales  were  neglected,  while  the 
soldiers  questioned  the  Little  Poor  Man  and 
listened  to  the  story  of  the  Brotherhood  of 
Assisi. 

[143] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

Francis  was  with  the  crusading  army  in 
Egypt  for  a  long  time,  but  we  know  little 
of  what  happened  to  him.  A  certain 
French  bishop  wrote  home  a  letter  which 
has,  somehow,  been  kept  all  these  seven 
hundred  years.  He  tells  in  it  of  the  won- 
derful "  Brother  Francis,  whom  every  one 
reveres  because  he  is  so  lovable;  and  who 
is  not  afraid  to  go  even  into  the  army  of 
the  Saracens." 

Francis  was  so  fearless  and  so  gentle  that, 
commonly,  strangers  and  even  enemies  re- 
ceived him  kindly,  and  he  came  to  be  al- 
most as  well  known  among  the  Saracens  as 
among  the  Crusaders.  But  there  were 
some  who  hated  him  because  he  preached 
a  strange  religion,  which  they  feared,  think- 
ing that  it  might  bring  success  to  the  Chris- 
tian armies  and  defeat  to  their  own. 

One  day  Francis  and  Brother  Illumina- 
tus,  who  was  his  comrade  at  this  time,  were 
[i44l 


WITH    THE   CRUSADERS 

returning  alone  from  the  Saracen  camp  to 
that  of  the  Christians.  Their  course  lay 
westward,  and,  where  the  treeless  plain  rose 
toward  the  red  sunset,  they  could  see  the 
line  of  the  Crusaders'  tents.  The  distance 
was  short,  and  they  had  good  hope  of  reach- 
ing their  friends  before  darkness  fell, 
when,  suddenly,  from  the  south,  a  band  of 
mounted  men  appeared.  As  they  came 
near,  Francis  could  see  that  they  were  not 
Crusaders  in  heavy  mail,  but  lightly  armed 
Saracens,  on  swift  Arabian  horses.  They 
swept  across  the  plain  like  a  flight  of  birds, 
and  Francis  watched  them  admiringly,  for 
he  loved  all  beautiful  things.  But  the  fleet 
riders  had  quick,  fierce  eyes.  As  they 
espied  the  grey  robes,  they  wheeled  sharply 
and  fell  upon  the  Little  Poor  Men,  like 
wolves  upon  sheep,  so  the  old  story  says. 

Wounded    and   helpless    in    their   cruel 
hands,  Francis  somehow  made  his  enemies 
[145] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

understand  that  he  wished  to  be  taken  into 
the  presence  of  the  Soldan  himself,  their 
emperor.  Perhaps  they  were  afraid  to  kill 
a  man  who  appealed  to  them  in  the  name 
of  their  master;  perhaps  they  expected  a 
reward  for  their  prisoners;  perhaps  even 
their  hard  hearts  were  softened  by  the  sight 
of  men  who  neither  fought  nor  feared.  At 
any  rate,  they  finally  bound  the  two 
Brothers  and  carried  them  off  to  the 
Saracen  camp.  The  next  day  Francis  had 
his  wish  fulfilled,  for  he  and  Brother  Illu- 
minatus  were  brought  into  the  royal  tent. 

The  Soldan  sat  on  a  splendid  throne,  and 
his  dress  was  rich  and  beautiful.  All  about 
the  throne  stood  armed  guards,  and,  at  the 
foot  of  it  black  Ethiopian  slaves,  with  shin- 
ing eyes  and  teeth.  On  one  side  were  the 
Soldan's  counsellors,  his  Wise  Men,  who 
could  read  in  the  stars  the  things  that  were 
to  happen  in  the  future;  who  could  tell  the 
meaning  of  dreams,  as  the  magicians  had 
[146] 


Froii  a  Fresco  bv  Giotto. 


ST.    FRANCIS  BEFORE  THE  SOLDAN. 


WITH   THE   CRUSADERS 

tried  to  do  in  Egypt,  since  the  day,  and 
long  before  the  day  when  young  Joseph  put 
them  all  to  shame.  The  Wise  Men  wore 
turbans  and  long  flowing  robes.  They  had 
white  beards,  and  deep-set  eyes,  and  solemn 
faces. 

In  front  of  the  throne  stood  Francis  and 
his  one  Little  Brother.  They  were  bare- 
headed and  barefooted.  Their  rough  grey 
robes  were  dusty  and  torn  and  stained  with 
blood.  They  seemed  no  match  for  the  tall 
magicians,  who  looked  down  on  them  with 
scorn,  thinking  them  madmen  or  fools.  But 
the  Soldan  was  grave  and  thoughtful.  He 
wanted  to  know  which  spoke  the  truth,  his 
learned  counsellors,  whom  he  had  always 
trusted,  or  these  simple,  poor  men,  with 
their  new  teaching. 

The  Wise  Men  could  give  no  help  to 

their  Sovereign,  and,  at  last,  Francis  said: 

"  My  lord,  bid  your  slaves  build  here  a  fire 

before  you,  great  and  hot;  it  may  be  that 

[i47] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

God  will  show  us  a  sign."  When  the  red 
fire  blazed  high,  Francis  spoke  across  it  to 
the  magicians:  "  If  you  love  your  religion 
better  than  your  life,  walk  into  the  midst 
of  this  fire  with  me,  that  it  may  be  seen 
which  faith  should  be  held  most  certain  and 
most  holy."  Then  the  Wise  Men  cowered 
away  from  the  flames  with  horror,  and  cov- 
ered their  faces  in  shame,  knowing  that 
they  dared  not  go  into  the  fire.  And 
Brother  Francis  cried  aloud  to  the  Soldan: 
"  Promise  me,  my  lord,  for  thyself  and  thy 
people,  that,  if  I  come  out  unharmed,  thou 
wilt  worship  Christ,  and  I  will  enter  the 
fire  alone."  But  the  Soldan  was  afraid,  for 
he  thought  that  his  people  might  revolt, 
knowing  that  they  held  the  Wise  Men  in 
great  dread  and  honour.  Therefore  he 
hastily  sent  the  Brothers,  with  a  safeguard, 
back  to  the  camp  of  the  Crusaders;  but  he 
marvelled  much  at  the  quiet  grey-robed 
man  who  had  no  fear. 

[148] 


XIV 


THE     CHRISTMAS 
G  RE  C  C  I  O 


AT 


THE  CHRISTMAS  AT  GRECCIO 

"The  beautiful   Mother  is  bending 
Low  where  her  Baby  lies 
Helpless  and  frail,  for  her  tending; 
But  she  knows  the  glorious  eyes. 

"  The  Mother  smiles  and  rejoices 
While  the  Baby  laughs  in  the  hay; 
She  listens  to  heavenly  voices: 

'  The  child  shall  be  King,  one  day.' 

"  O  dear  little  Christ  in  the  manger, 
Let  me  make  merry  with  Thee. 
O  King,  in  my  hour  of  danger, 
Wilt  Thou  be  strong  for  me?" 
—  Adapted  from  the  Latin  of  Jacopone  da  Todi. 
Thirteenth  Century. 

ONE  night  in  December,  a  few  years 
after  his  return  from  the  East, 
Brother  Francis,  with  one  companion,  was 
walking  through  the  beautiful  valley  of 
the  Velino  River,  toward  Rieti,  a  little  city 
where  he  came  often  on  his  way  from  Assisi 
[151] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

to  Rome.  To-night  he  had  turned  some- 
what aside  from  the  main  road,  for  he 
wished  to  spend  Christmas  with  his  friend, 
Sir  John  of  Greccio.  Greccio  is  a  tiny  vil- 
lage, lying  where  the  foothills  begin,  on  the 
western  side  of  the  valley.  The  very  feet 
of  Brother  Francis  knew  the  road  so  well 
that  he  could  have  walked  safely  in  the 
darkness,  but  it  was  not  dark.  The  full 
moon  floated  over  the  valley,  making  the 
narrow  river  and  the  sharp  outlines  of  the 
snow-covered  mountains  shine  like  silver. 
The  plain  and  the  lower  hills  were  pasture 
land,  and,  not  far  from  the  road,  on  a 
grassy  slope,  the  Brothers  saw  the  red 
glow  of  an  almost  spent  shepherds'  fire. 
11  Let  us  stop  and  visit  our  brothers,  the 
shepherds,"  said  Francis,  and  they  turned 
toward  the  fading  fire. 

There  was  no  sense  of  winter  in  the  air, 
scarcely  a  touch  of  frost,  and  the  only  snow 
[152] 


THE  CHRISTMAS  AT  GRECCIO 

was  that  on  the  silver  peaks  against  the  sky. 
The  shepherds,  three  men  and  one  boy,  lay 
sleeping  soundly  on  the  bare  ground,  with 
their  sheepskin  coats  drawn  closely  around 
them.  All  about  them  the  sheep  were  sleep- 
ing, too,  but  the  solemn  white  sheep  dogs 
were  wide  awake.  If  a  stranger's  foot  had 
trod  the  grass  never  so  softly,  every  dog 
wTould  have  barked,  and  every  shepherd 
would  have  been  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 
But  the  dogs  trotted  silently  up  to  the  Grey 
Brothers  and  rubbed  against  them,  as  if 
they  said,  "We  are  glad  to  see  you  again/' 
for  they  knew  the  friendly  feet  of  the  Little 
Poor  Man,  and  they  had  more  than  once 
helped  him  to  eat  the  bread  that  was  his 
only  dinner.  Followed  by  the  dogs,  Fran- 
cis walked  about  among  the  shepherds,  but 
they  slept  on,  as  only  men  who  live  out  of 
doors  can  sleep,  and  Francis  could  not  find 
it  in  his  heart  to  waken  them.  The  sheep 
[i53] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

lay  huddled  together  in  groups  for  more 
warmth.  Around  one  small  square  of  grass 
a  net  was  stretched,  and,  inside  it,  were  the 
mother  sheep  who  had  little  lambs.  There 
was  no  sound  except  the  faint  cry,  now  and 
then,  of  a  baby  lamb.  The  coals  over  which 
the  shepherds  had  cooked  their  supper 
paled  from  dull  red  to  grey,  and  there  was 
only  a  thin  column  of  smoke,  white  in  the 
moonlight.  Francis  sat  down  on  a  stone, 
and  the  largest  of  the  white  dogs  pressed  up 
against  his  knee.  Another  went  dutifully 
back  to  his  post  beside  the  fold  where  the 
mothers  and  babies  slept.  The  Italian  hill- 
side seemed  to  Francis  to  change  to  that  of 
Bethlehem,  which  he  had  seen,  perhaps,  on 
his  Eastern  journey;  the  clear  December 
night  seemed  like  that  of  the  first  Christmas 
Eve.  "How  these  shepherds  sleep!"  he 
thought;  "how  they  would  awaken  if  they 
heard  the  '  Peace  on  earth'  of  the  angels' 
[i54] 


THE  CHRISTMAS  AT  GRECCIO 
song!"    Then  he  remembered  sadly  how 
the  armies  that  called  themselves  Christian 
had,  year  after  year,  battled  with  the  Sara- 
cens over  the  cradle  and  the  tomb  of  the 
Prince   of   Peace.     The   moonlight  grew 
misty  about  him,  the  silver  heights  of  the 
mountains  and  the  silver  line  of  the  river 
faded,  for  the  eyes  of  Brother  Francis  were 
full  of  tears. 

As  the  two  Brothers  went  on  their  way, 
Francis  grew  light  of  heart  again.     The 
sight  of  the  shepherds  sleeping  on  the  grass 
had  given  him  a  new  idea,  and  he  was 
planning  a  surprise  for  his  friends  at  Grec- 
cio.     For  at  Greccio  all  were  his  friends, 
from  Sir  John,  his  host,  down  to  the  babies 
in  the  street.    In  the  valley  of  Rieti  he  was 
almost  as  well  known  and  as  dearly  loved 
as  in  his  own  valley  of  Assisi.  The  children 
of  Greccio  had  never  heard  of  Christmas 
trees,  nor,  perhaps,  of  Christmas  presents. 
[i55] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

I  am  not  sure  that,  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
Italians  had  the  beautiful  custom  which 
they  now  have,  of  giving  presents  at 
Twelfth  Night,  in  memory  of  the  coming 
of  the  three  kings  with  their  gifts  to  the 
Christ  Child;  but  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
even  as  now,  Christmas  was  the  happiest 
festival  of  the  year.  This  year  all  the  folk 
of  Greccio,  big  and  little,  were  happier 
than  usual  because  their  beloved  Brother 
Francis  was  to  help  them  keep  their  Christ- 
mas-tide. Next  day  Francis  confided  his 
plan  to  his  friend,  Sir  John,  who  promised 
that  all  should  be  ready  on  Christmas 
Eve. 

On  the  day  before  Christmas,  the  people 
came  from  all  the  country  around  to  see 
and  hear  Brother  Francis.  Men,  women 
and  children,  dressed  in  their  holiday 
clothes,  walking,  riding  on  donkeys,  crowd- 
ing into  little  carts  drawn  by  great  white 
[156] 


d  £ 


THE  CHRISTMAS  AT  GRECCIO 

oxen,    from    everywhere    and    in    every 
fashion,    the    country  folk    came    toward 
Greccio.    Many  came  from  far  away,  and 
the  early  winter  darkness  fell  long  before 
they  could  reach  the  town.    The  light  of 
their  torches  might  be  seen  on  the  open 
road,  and  the  sound  of  their  singing  reached 
the  gates  of  Greccio  before  them.     That 
night  the  little  town  was  almost  as  crowded 
as  was  Bethlehem  on  the  eve  of  the  first 
Christmas.     The  crowds  were  poor  folk, 
for  the  most  part,  peasants  from  the  fields, 
charcoal  burners  from  the  mountains,  shep- 
herds in  their  sheepskin  coats  and  trousers, 
made  with  the  wool  outside,  so  that  the 
wearers    looked    like    strange,  two-legged 
animals.   The  four  shepherds  who  had  slept 
so  soundly  a  few  nights  before  were  of  the 
company,  but  they  knew  nothing  of  their 
midnight  visitors.    The  white  dogs  knew, 
but  they  could  keep  a  secret.    The  shep- 
[i57] 


mm 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

herds  were  almost  as  quiet  as  their  dogs. 
They  always  talked  and  sang  less  than 
other  people,  having  grown  used  to  long 
silences  among  their  sheep. 

Gathered  at  last  into  the  square  before 
the  church,  by  the  light  of  flaring  torches, 
for  the  moon  would  rise  late,  the  people 
saw  with  wonder  and  delight  the  surprise 
which  Brother  Francis  and  Sir  John  had 
prepared  for  them.  They  looked  into  a 
real  stable.  There  was  the  manger  full  of 
hay,  there  were  a  live  ox  and  a  live  ass. 
Even  by  torchlight  their  breath  showed  in 
the  frosty  air.  And  there,  on  the  hay,  lay 
a  real  baby,  wrapped  from  the  cold,  asleep 
and  smiling.  It  looked  as  sweet  and  inno- 
cent as  the  Christ  Child  Himself.  The 
people  shouted  with  delight.  They  clapped 
their  hands  and  waved  their  torches. 

Then    there    was  silence,    for    Brother 
Francis  stood  before  them,  and  the  voice 
[158] 


THE  CHRISTMAS  AT  GRECCIO 

they  loved  so  well,  and  had  come  so  far  to 
hear,  began  to  read  the  old  story  of  the 
birth  of  the  Child  Jesus,  of  the  shepherds 
in  the  fields,  and  of  the  angels'  song.   When 
the   reading  was  ended,  Brother  Francis 
talked  to  them  as  a  father  might  speak  to 
his  children.    He  told  of  the  love  that  is 
gentle  as  a  little  child,  that  is  willing  to  be 
poor  and  humble  as  the  Baby  who  was  laid 
in  a  manger  among  the  cattle.    He  begged 
his  listeners  to  put  anger  and  hatred  and 
envy  out  of  their  hearts  this  Christmas  Eve, 
and  to  think  only  thoughts  of  peace  and 
good    will.      All  listened    eagerly    while 
Brother  Francis  spoke,  but  the  moment  he 
finished  the  great  crowd  broke  into  singing. 
From  the  church  tower  the  bells  rang  loud; 
the  torches  waved  wildly,  while  voices  here 
and  there  shouted  for  Brother  Francis  and 
for  the  Blessed  Little  Christ.    Never  before 
had  such  glorious  hymns  nor  such  joyous 
[i59] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

shouting  been  heard  in  the  town  of  Greccio. 
Only  the  mothers,  with  babies  in  their  arms, 
and  the  shepherds,  in  their  woolly  coats, 
looked  on  silently  and  thought:  "We  are 
in  Bethlehem." 


[160] 


XV 
LA    VERN A 


LA  VERNA 

THE  story  of  the  Troubadour  is  al- 
most finished.  The  last  years  of  his 
life  were  years  of  suffering  and  sorrow. 
Now  that  the  Brotherhood  had  grown  so 
large,  many  of  its  members  were  forgetting 
the  teaching  of  their  leader.  Instead  of 
serving  Lady  Poverty,  they  were  serving 
Lady  Wealth,  or  Lady  Pride,  or  Lady 
Fame;  and  they  were  Little  Poor  Men  only 
on  the  outside,  in  their  coarse  grey  robes 
and  their  unshod  feet.  This  change  in  his 
Brothers  well-nigh  broke  the  heart  of  Fran- 
cis of  Assisi.  He  remembered  the  first  win- 
ter in  the  hovel  at  Rivo  Torto,  when,  in 
spite  of  cold  and  want,  the  little  company 
had  been  so  happy  and  so  united.  He  re- 
membered the  joy  with  which  they  had 
built  the  huts  in  the  plain,  and  had  planted 
[163] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

their  tiny  gardens.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
his  children  were  scattered  far  and  wide 
over  the  world;  that  they  wrere  no  longer 
simple  servants  of  all  who  needed  help,  but 
that  each  was  striving  for  his  own  comfort 
and  his  own  gain.  There  came  back  to  him 
an  old  dream.  He  had  dreamed  of  a  little 
black  hen  who  had  so  many  chickens  that 
she  could  not  gather  them  all  under  her 
wings.  Some  would  be  left  out,  to  die  of 
cold  or  to  be  stolen  by  the  fox.  Even  in  his 
grief,  Francis  smiled  over  his  dream.  "  I 
am  the  little  hen,"  he  thought,  "  and  I  can- 
not any  longer  shelter  my  brood." 

Besides  his  sorrow,  Francis  had  much 
illness  and  pain  to  bear.  His  body, 
"  Brother  Ass,"  as  he  sometimes  called  it, 
was  worn  and  weak,  but  his  heart  was 
brave,  and  his  spirit  was  always  sweet. 

In  those  days,  sick  people  could  not 
have  the  help  and  comfort  that  doctors  and 
[164] 


LA   VERNA 

nurses  have  learned  to  give.  There  was 
no  ether  nor  chloroform  to  put  a  patient 
out  of  pain,  and  surgery  was  horribly  cruel. 
Once  when  Francis  was  exceedingly  ill,  the 
doctors  decided  that  they  must  burn  his 
forehead  with  a  hot  iron.  As  the  surgeon 
came  close  to  him  with  the  terrible  rod, 
heated  till  it  looked  white  and  quivering, 
Francis  shrank  away  fearfully  for  a  minute. 
Then  he  lifted  his  hand  and  said  cheer- 
ily: "  Brother  Fire,  thou  art  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  things,  help  me  in  this 
hour;  thou  knowest  how  I  have  always 
loved  thee ;  be  courteous  to  me  to-day."  The 
Brothers,  unable  to  bear  the  sight,  had  gone 
to  the  next  room.  A  moment  later,  they 
came  back,  and  Francis,  smiling  on  them, 
asked :  "  Why  did  you  run  away  in  such  a 
cowardly  fashion  ?  I  have  not  felt  the 
pain,"  he  added.  "Brother  Doctor,  if  it 
is  necessary,  you  may  begin  again." 
[165] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 
One  great  joy  remained  to  Francis  al- 
most until  the  end,  the  joy  of  being  out  of 
doors.  His  love  for  a  life  under  the  sky; 
his  love  for  birds  and  flowers,  for  long 
journeys  through  the  river  valleys  or  among 
the  high  mountains,  never  left  him.  One 
mountain  he  loved  best  of  all.  It  is  called 
La  Verna,  and  it  stands,  wild  and  beautiful, 
among  the  Tuscan  Apennines.  A  certain 
Count  Orlando,  to  whom  all  the  region  be- 
longed, had  once  heard  Brother  Francis 
preach,  and  had  said  to  him:  "I  have 
a  mountain  in  Tuscany.  It  is  a  silent  and 
lonely  place,  where  one  might  rest  and 
think  and  pray.  If  you  would  like  it,  I 
will  gladly  give  it  to  you  and  to  your 
Brothers." 

The  old  story  says  that  Brother  Francis 
was  greatly  pleased  by  this  gift  of  the  moun- 
tain. He  thanked  first  God  and  then  Messer 
Orlando,  and  he  promised  that  when  he 
[166] 


r 


LA   VERNA 

should  return  to  the  Portiuncula  he  would 
send  some  of  the  Brothers  to  Messer  Or- 
lando, at  his  castle  of  Chiusi.  This 
castle  stood,  and  its  roofless  walls  still 
stand,  where  the  road  begins  to  climb  to 
La  Verna. 

So  it  happened,  that  when  Count  Or- 
lando went  home,  he  wTas  visited  by  two 
Grey  Brothers  from  Assisi,  come  to  see  if, 
in  the  forest  of  La  Verna,  they  might  find 
a  fit  place  for  Brother  Francis.  Count 
Orlando  received  the  two  Brothers  with 
the  greatest  joy  and  friendliness,  and,  be- 
cause the  mountain  was  filled  with  wild 
beasts,  he  sent  armed  men  to  escort  the 
strangers.  The  Little  Poor  Men,  with 
their  guard  of  soldiers,  searched  about  on 
the  steep,  rocky  mountain,  till  they  found 
a  small  level  place,  like  a  natural  terrace, 
looking  off  to  the  southwest.  "  Here," 
they  said,  "  is  the  right  spot.  Let  us  build 
[167] 


GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

huts  for  ourselves  and  for  our  Broth- 
ers." 

The  soldiers  of  Count  Orlando  began 
to  cut  down  great  branches  from  the  fir 
trees  and  beeches,  and,  with  these,  they 
helped  the  Brothers  to  make  rude  shel- 
ters. 

Then  startled  eyes  looked  out  from  the 
green  shadows,  and  soft  feet  rustled  away 
over  the  fallen  leaves;  and  a  thousand  pairs 
of  wings  made  a  whirring  sound,  for  all 
the  wild  things  of  La  Verna  were  dis- 
turbed by  the  loud  voices  and  the  ringing 
axes  of  Count  Orlando's  soldiers,  and 
Brother  Francis  was  not  there  to  under- 
stand and  comfort  them. 

When  the  green,  sweet-smelling  huts  were 
finished,  the  two  Brothers  with  their  guard 
of  soldiers  went  back  to  the  castle  of  Chiusi 
to  thank  Count  Orlando  for  his  gift.  Then 
they  journeyed  down  to  the  plain  of  Assisi 
and  reported  to  Brother  Francis  that  the 
[168] 


LA   VERNA 

Tuscan  mountain  was  the  fittest  place  in  the 
world  in  which  to  think  and  pray.  Brother 
Francis  rejoiced  at  the  account  of  the  two 
Brothers,  and  he  thought  it  good  that  a 
company  of  the  Poor  Men  should  keep  at 
La  Verna  the  Feast  of  St.  Michael  and  All 
Angels,  which  comes  at  the  end  of  Septem- 
ber. 

He  started  out  bravely  on  foot,  as  of  old, 
but  during  the  long,  rough  journey,  he  be- 
came so  weak  that  the  Brothers  were  forced 
to  ask  help  of  a  peasant  who  was  riding 
upon  an  ass.  The  peasant  gave  his  beast  to 
the  sick  man,  and  walked  beside  him  all 
the  way,  until  they  reached  the  sheer  grey 
crags  below  the  little  huts  that  Count  Or- 
lando's soldiers  had  built. 

Here  they  rested  under  an  oak  tree  be- 
fore making  the  steep  climb.  Brother 
Francis  sat  looking  about  the  place,  of 
which  he  had  heard  so  much,  and,  says  the 
story:  "As  he  was  looking  and  thinking 
[169] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

there  came  great  flocks  of  birds  from  every 
direction,  singing  and  beating  their  wings, 
and  they  showed  signs  of  joy  and  welcome. 
They  circled  around  Francis,  so  that  some 
perched  on  his  head,  some  on  his  shoulders, 
on  his  arms,  in  his  lap  and  even  on  his  feet. 
His  companions  and  the  peasant  saw  them 
with  wonder,  but  Francis  said,  all  happy  of 
heart:  'I  believe,  dearest  Brothers,  that 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  pleased  that  we  are 
to  live  in  this  lonely  mountain,  since  our 
sisters  and  brothers,  the  birds,  show  such 
joy  at  our  coming.'  " 

The  little  company  lived  for  some  weeks 
on  the  mountain.  Apart  from  the  others, 
that  he  might  be  more  alone,  Francis  had 
a  tiny  hut,  and  here  he  spent  much  time  in 
prayer.  Only  Brother  Leone  was  allowed 
to  come  to  him,  before  dawn  each  day, 
bringing  his  scant  food.  His  only  other 
comrade  was  a  falcon,  wThose  shrill  cry  used 
[i/o] 


LA   VERNA 

to  waken  him  long  before  light;  but  some- 
times, when  Brother  Francis,  worn  and  ill, 
lay  sleeping,  Brother  Falcon,  like  a  person 
discreet  and  pitiful,  would  be  silent  until 
later  in  the  morning. 

The  forest  was  full  of  singing  birds,  but 
sweeter  music  than  theirs  sounded  some- 
times in  the  ears  of  the  Little  Poor  Man, 
who,  growing  weaker  and  weaker  in  body, 
fixed  his  mind  more  and  more  on  the  glory 
and  the  joy  of  the  heavenly  life. 

Once,  as  he  thought  on  these  things, 
longing  to  know  what  heaven  might  be 
like,  he  saw  before  him  a  most  beautiful 
angel  with  a  viol  in  his  left  hand  and  a  bow 
in  his  right.  As  Francis  gazed,  wondering, 
the  angel  touched  the  strings  with  his  bow 
and  so  soft  a  melody  was  heard  that  the 
spirit  of  Francis  was  filled  with  sweetness, 
and  he  forgot  all  his  pain  of  body  and  mind. 

One  morning,  in  the  hours  before  sun- 
[171] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

rise,  Francis  was  kneeling  in  prayer  not 
far  from  his  hut,  when  a  light  shone  in  the 
heaven  above  him,  and  came  nearer  and 
nearer.  And,  behold!  it  was  a  seraph  with 
six  wings  shining  and  aflame.  As  the  ser- 
aph came  nearer  in  swift  flight  he  seemed 
to  Francis  like  the  figure  of  a  man  cruci- 
fied. Two  wings  were  lifted  above  his 
head,  and  two  outstretched  in  flight  and 
two  were  folded  down,  covering  all  his 
body.  And  Francis  was  filled  with  fear, 
and  yet  with  great  joy. 

Then  all  the  mountain  of  La  Verna 
seemed  to  burn  with  rosiest  flame.  The 
flame  shone  out  and  lighted  the  hills  and 
valleys  far  away,  as  if  it  were  the  red  light 
of  dawn.  The  shepherds,  watching  their 
flocks,  were  frightened  to  see  the  mountain 
all  ablaze,  and  afterward  they  declared  that 
the  flame  had  lasted  on  La  Verna  for  an 
hour  and  more.  The  light  shone  even  into 
[172] 


LA   VERNA 

the  windows  of  the  low  houses  and  little 
inns  in  the  country  round  about;  so  that 
some  mule  drivers,  who  were  sleeping  at 
an  inn  not  far  away  to  the  west,  rose,  and 
saddled  and  loaded  their  mules,  thinking 
that  it  was  day.  As  they  went  on  their 
journey  they  were  astonished  to  see  the 
beautiful  light  fade  away  over  La  Verna, 
and,  after  an  hour  of  darkness,  the  real  sun 
rise. 

If  the  shepherds  on  the  hills,  and  the 
muleteers  going  sleepily  along  the  road 
wondered  and  feared  because  of  the  great 
light  that  was  not  dawn,  the  Brothers  on 
La  Verna  wondered  still  more. 

But  Brother  Francis  knew  wThat  the  vi- 
sion meant.  Often  in  these  last  years  his 
life  had  seemed  a  failure,  and  sometimes 
he  had  envied  the  martyrs  of  the  early 
Church,  and  even  his  own  Brothers  wTho 
had  given  their  lives  for  the  faith  in  Africa 
[  i/3  ] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

and  in  Spain.  Now,  the  vision  of  pain 
and  glory  seemed  to  say  to  him:  "  Be  con- 
tent, Little  Poor  Man,  for  not  by  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  thy  body,  but  by  the  fire  of  thy 
spirit,  thou  art  made  like  to  thy  Master, 
Christ."  And  the  Brothers  who  wrote 
down  the  story  tell  how,  from  that  wonder- 
ful hour  upon  the  mountain,  their  beloved 
leader  bore  on  his  hands  and  on  his  feet 
marks  like  the  nail-prints  of  the  Crucified. 


[i74l 


XVI 

THE    TROUBADOUR' S 
LAST    SONG 


THE  TROUBADOUR'S    LAST 
SONG 

A  LMOST  the  first  we  know  of  Francis 
J^~\^  of  Assisi  is  the  story  of  the  sweet- 
voiced  lad  who  liked  to  sing  gay  songs  of 
love  and  war.  Almost  the  last  that  we 
know  of  him  is  the  more  beautiful  story  of 
the  song  which  he  made  and  sang  only  a 
little  wrhile  before  he  died.  He  had  been 
terribly  ill,  he  was  weak,  and  sad,  and  in 
great  pain,  but,  one  morning,  his  friends 
heard  the  wonderful  voice,  strong  and  clear 
as  of  old,  singing  words  that  they  had  never 
known.  He  had  often  sung  the  sweet  old 
Latin  hymns,  but  these  words  were  Italian, 
and  so  simple  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  singer 
made  them  as  he  sang.  And  so  he  did. 
The  weary,  suffering  man  was  still  at  heart 
the  Troubadour.  He  was  still,  as  he  used 
[177] 


G<  7ROUBADC 

m  call  hmadL  the  L 
Ur  ;zg    for    d«r    h*pp» 

pcne-  doc  orr   to  pmr. 

.  iiB  !■«>  E  - : 

Tbe  bst  KMg  of  G  :  ?  Troohaoor.  the 
dnmd  his  km-  ia   and 


O 

Br  «0k  »  xr  TV  Ban    Hum 

Ufa 

7  :.;:- 


:    :r "  — : 

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THE  mOUBADOCF. 


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:  to  Ac  goes  of 

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GOD'S   TROUBADOUR 

him  the  deepest  sorrow.  His  days  were 
full  of  suffering,  but  he  forgot  himself,  and 
only  prayed  that  he  might  make  peace  be- 
fore he  died. 

One  day  he  called  a  Brother  to  him  and 
said:  "  Go  to  the  Governor,  and  beg  him 
to  come  with  all  the  chief  men  of  the  city 
to  the  porch  before  the  Bishop's  palace." 
The  Governor  came  at  this  request  from  the 
dying  Francis,  and  when  the  Bishop 
stepped  out  at  his  palace  door  he  found 
himself  in  a  gathering  of  the  very  men 
with  whom  he  was  at  strife. 

Just  at  that  moment  two  Grey  Brothers 
came  forward  before  the  two  proud  ene- 
mies, and  one  said:  "My  Lords,  Brother 
Francis  has  made  a  song  for  the  praise  of 
God,  and  he  begs  you  will  all  listen  to  it," 
and  they  began  to  sing  "  The  Song  of  the 
Sun."  They  sang  the  praise  of  Sun  and 
Moon,  of  Wind  and  Fire,  of  Sister  Water 
[180] 


THE  TROUBADOUR'S  LAST  SONG 

and  Mother  Earth;  and  then  their  voices 
rose  higher  and  sweeter  in  a  new  stanza  that 
Francis,  in  his  longing  for  peace,  had 
added: 

"  We  praise  Thee,  Lord,  for  gentle  souls  who  live 
In  love  and  peace,  who  bear  with  no  complaint 
All  wounds  and  wrongs;  who  pity  and  forgive; 
Each  one  of  these,  Most  High,  shall  be  Thy  saint." 

The  old  story  tells  that  the  Governor  lis- 
tened, standing  humbly  "  weeping  hot  tears, 
for  he  greatly  loved  the  blessed  Francis. 
When  the  song  was  finished:  '  Know  in 
truth,'  he  said,  c  that  I  pardon  the  Lord 
Bishop,  whom  I  wish  and  ought  to  regard 
as  my  lord,  for  even  if  some  one  had  mur- 
dered my  brother,  I  should  be  ready  to  for- 
give the  murderer.'  After  these  words  he 
threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  Bishop  and 
said  to  him:  '  Behold  me,  ready  to  do  all 
that  you  wish,  for  love  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  and  for  His  servant  Francis.' 
[181] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

"Then  the  Bishop,  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  lifted  him  and  said:  *  In  my  calling, 
I  ought  to  be  humble,  but  since  I  am  by 
nature  too  quickly  angry,  you  must  pardon 


me.'  " 


A  few  days  later  Brother  Francis  was 
carried  out  from  the  Bishop's  palace,  and 
borne  tenderly  down  the  familiar  road  to- 
ward the  Portiuncula.  At  the  Leper  Hos- 
pital he  asked  his  bearers  to  halt,  and  he 
looked  back,  with  dim  eyes,  lovingly,  and, 
lifting  his  feeble  hand,  he  blessed  Assisi. 
Then  the  grey  procession  entered  the  forest, 
and  passed  softly  through  the  fallen  leaves 
to  the  poor  huts  and  the  bright  garden 
which  had  been  the  dearest  home  of  the 
Brotherhood. 

And  here    the    Troubadour,    the  Little 
Poor  Man,  died,  happy  and  high-hearted, 
singing  praise,  at  the  last,  for  the  welcome 
coming  of  "  Our  Sister  Death." 
[182] 


ASSISI     FROM    THE    PLACE    AT    WHICH     ST.     FRANCIS     BLESSED     IT    ON     HIS 
LAST    JOURNEY. 


From  a  Fresco  by  Giotto.  Fhoiogiapti  by  Auuan. 

OUR    SISTER    DEATH. 


IN   UMBRIA 

Under  a  roof  of  twisted  boughs 

And  silver  leaves  and  noon-day  sky, 

Among  gaunt  trunks,  where  lizards  house, 
On  the  hot  sun-burnt  grass  I  lie; 

I  hear  soft  notes  of  birds  that  drowse, 
And  steps  that  echo  by 

Unseen,  along  the  sunken  way 

That  drops  below  the  city-wall. 
Not  of  to-day,  nor  yesterday, 

The  hidden,  holy  feet  that  fall. 
O  whispering  leaves,  beseech  them  stay! 

O  birds,  awake  and  call! 

Say  that  a  pilgrim,  journeying  long, 
From  that  loud  land  that  lies  to  west, 

Where  tongues  debate  of  right  and  wrong, 
Would  be  "The  Little  Poor  Man's"  guest; 

Would  learn  "  The  Lark's  "  divine  "  Sun-Song," 
And  how  glad  hearts  are  blest. 

Say:  u  Master,  we  of  over-seas 

Confess  that  oft  our  hearts  are  set 

On  gold  and  gain;  and  if,  with  these, 
For  lore  of  books  we  strive  and  fret, 

Perchance  some  lore  of  bended  knees 
And  saint-hood  we  forget; 

[183] 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR 

"  Still,  in  one  thought  our  lips  are  bold — 
That,  in  our  world  of  haste  and  care, 
Through  days  whose  hours  are  bought  and  sold, 

Days  full  of  deeds  and  scant  of  prayer, 
Of  thy  life's  gospel  this  we  hold: 
The  hands  that  toil  are  fair. 

"Therefore,  forgive;  assoil  each  stain 

Of  trade  and  hate,  of  war  and  wrath  ; 
Teach  us  thy  tenderness  for  pain; 
Thy  music  that  no  other  hath; 
Thy  fellowship  with  sun  and  rain, 
And  flowers  along  thy  path." 

Thou  dost  not  answer.     Down  the  track 
Where  now  I  thought  thy  feet  must  pass, 

With  patient  step  and  burdened  back 
Go  "  Brother  Ox  "  and  "  Brother  Ass." 

A  mountain  cloud  looms  swift  and  black, 
O'ershadowing  stone  and  grass. 

The  silver  leaves  are  turned  to  grey; 

There  comes  no  sound  from  hedge  nor  tree; 
Only  a  voice  from  far  away, 

Borne  o'er  the  silent  hills  to  me, 
Entreats:    "  Be  light  of  heart  to-day; 

To-morrow  joy  shall  be. 

[184] 


IN    UMBRIA 

"  The  glad  of  heart  no  hope  betrays, 

Since  '  Mother  Earth  '  and  '  Sister  Death ' 

Are  good  to  know,  and  sweet  to  praise." 
I  hear  not  all  the  far  voice  saith 

Of  Love,  that  trod  green  Umbrian  ways, 
And  streets  of  Nazareth. 


[185] 


BY     SOPHIE    JEWETT 


GOD'S  TROUBADOUR.    The  Story 
of  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi 

800,  cloth.    Net  $125 

POEMS.    Memorial  Edition 

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THE  PEARL.    Student's  Edition 

l6mo,  cloth.    Net  $  JO 


THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL     CO. 


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